


Fire and Silk

by darkforetold



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Amaurotine Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Anal Sex, Angst, Breathplay, Choking, Comfort, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Death, Depression, Dirty Talk, Drinking, FFxivWrite2020, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Forced Prostitution, Hair Braiding, Hand Jobs, Humor, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mentions of Cancer, Multi, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, Old Age, One-sided pining, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Pegging, References to Depression, Rough Sex, Safewords, Self-Harm, Spanking, Stink Kink, Suicide Attempt, Tales from the Shadows (Final Fantasy XIV), Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 32,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: A collection of ficlets for FFXIV Write, featuring an array of relationships, themes, and characters! Be wary of 5.3 spoilers!Complete!Final Prompt:Splinter- Hades is a fragment of what he once was, but he's always with her. (Emet-Selch/Warrior Of Light).“You remind me of him, you know,” she began, wiping a tear that had yet to fall, “You have that same... flair for drama. The same eyes. That same aloofness. And you have an attitude to boot.”He took the compliments in stride, but said nothing.
Relationships: Azem/Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch, G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Gaius van Baelsar/Estinien Wyrmblood, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light, Zenos yae Galvus & Warrior of Light, Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Comments: 275
Kudos: 142
Collections: #FFxivWrite2020 Final Fantasy 30 Day Writing Challenge, Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched Bookclub FFXIV-Writes 2020 Collection





	1. Table of Contents

**Author's Note:**

> Tags and fic rating are subject to change.

This collection is for FFXIV Write, which in essence, can be summed up in a few sentences from the creator: " **The purpose of this challenge is to break the power of perfectionism** over your personal creative process. Some folks frown on the 24-hour submission deadline, but I think that it’s a critical part in getting people to just go ahead and submit something, **even if it’s not perfect, and in doing so perfectionism begins to lose its power day by day.** "

I rarely create because I am terrified it won't be perfect. But for this 30-Day challenge, I'm going to try to hard to shed those preconceptions—and just create! Come join us! For rules, how to participate, etc., visit [FFXIV Write](https://ffxiv-write.carrd.co/)!

  


╒══════════════════╕ 

  
**Chapter 1 - Table of Contents** ;

[**Chapter 2 - "Crux"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/63892393) `Zenos/Warrior of Light. **Death, Angst**.`  


    The Warrior of Light and Zenos battle as gods.
  
[ **Chapter 3 - "Sway"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/63938986) `Hades/Azem & Hades/Hythlodaeus.`  
    Hades tests a new concept. Alternative Title: Consider: The Crow.
  
[ **Chapter 4 - "Muster"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/63985150) `Hades/Hythlodaeus.`  
    Hades confronts Hythlodaeus. Continuation from Chapter 3: Sway.
  
[ **Chapter 5 - "Clinch"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64035037) `Warrior of Light. **!! Please heed the warnings on specific chapter. !!**`  
     Verity Iverness origin story. Her "governess" clinches a deal with The Heir.
  
[ **Chapter 6 - "Matter of Fact"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64088218) `Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light. **Pegging, Spanking. Explicit**.`  
    Verity wants to try something new in the bedroom. Hades is intrigued.
  
[ **Chapter 7 - "Smile"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64111915) `Zenos/Warrior of Light. **Attempted Suicide. Self-Harm.**`  
     Smiles are a two-edged sword.
  
[ **Chapter 8 - "Nonagenarian"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64186768) `Master Matoya.`  
    Master Matoya reminisces.
  
[ **Chapter 9 - "Clamor"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64231519) `Warrior of Light.`  
    Verity Iverness origin story. A nine-year-old Verity begins her journey as a thief in Ul'dah.
  
[ **Chapter 10 - "Lush"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64277665) `Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light. **Hand job. Drinking. Explicit**.`  
    Hades enjoys a bath. Things get... steamy.
  
[ **Chapter 11 - "Avail"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64295668) `G'raha Tia/Warrior of Light. **!! Please heed the warnings on specific chapter. !!**`  
     A darker look at the G'raha Tia/Warrior of Light relationship.
  
[ **Chapter 12 - "Ultracrepidarian"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64340329) `G'raha Tia/Warrior of Light. **Explicit. !! Please heed the warnings on specific chapter. !!**`  
     A darker look at the G'raha Tia/Warrior of Light relationship.
  
[ **Chapter 13 - "Tooth and Nail"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64418578) `Gaius Baelsar/Estinien Wyrmblood. **Explicit**.`  
    Gaius and Estinien find themselves alone. Opportunity strikes.
  
[ **Chapter 14 - "Light | Dark"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64438270) `Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light.`  
    Emet-Selch faces the Warden's Light.
  
[ **Chapter 15 - "Part"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64517023) `Emet-Selch & G'raha Tia.`  
    Hades and G'raha Tia bicker over... braiding hair?
  
[ **Chapter 16 - "Ache"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64562737) `Alisaie. **Character Death**.`  
    Alisaie faces her greatest foe.
  
[ **Chapter 17 - "Lucubration"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64607191) `Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light. **Explicit**.`  
    Filthy material is sent to The Rising Stones ~~by Nero~~ anonymously.
  
[ **Chapter 18 - "Fade"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64649356) `Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light. **Cancer**.`  
    Verity visits Amaurot.
  
[ **Chapter 19 - "Panglossian"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64701472) `Emet-Selch & Azem & Hythlodaeus.`  
    Hythlodaeus struggles to create concepts. Azem and Hades help him.
  
[ **Chapter 20 - "Where the Heart Is"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64749676) `Hades/Hythlodaeus. **Explicit**.`  
    Hades ponders over his love for Hythlodaeus. Continuation from Chapter 4: Muster.
  
[ **Chapter 21 - "Rival"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64796578) `Emet-Selch & G'raha Tia.`  
    Hades and G'raha Tia bicker again over... plums?
  
[ **Chapter 22 - "Foibles"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64840882) `Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light. **Explicit. !! Please heed the warnings on specific chapter. !!**`  
     Hades' new humanity brings about its foibles, particularly during sex.
  
[ **Chapter 23 - "Argy-bargy"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64887136) `Emet-Selch/G'raha Tia/Warrior of Light. **Explicit**.`  
    Hades and G'raha Tia bicker... over a bet? Continuation from Chapter 21: Rival.
  
[ **Chapter 24 - "Shuffle"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64931614) `Hades & Azem & Hythlodaeus`.  
    The trio play a new card game.
  
[ **Chapter 25 - "Beam"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/64971667) `Emet-Selch/G'raha Tia/Warrior of Light.`  
    Hades and G'raha Tia bicker... over Verity's condition. Continuation from Chapter 23: Argy-bargy.
  
[ **Chapter 26 - "Wish"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/65027656) `Emet-Selch/G'raha Tia/Warrior of Light.`  
    Hades and G'raha Tia... actually don't bicker at all? Continuation from Chapter 25: Beam.
  
[ **Chapter 27 - "When Pigs Fly"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/65066137) `Emet-Selch/G'raha Tia/Warrior of Light.`  
    Hades and Verity talk through their vulnerabilities. Continuation from Chapter 26: Wish.
  
[ **Chapter 28 - "Starlight"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/65112055) `Hades/Hythlodaeus. **Explicit**.`  
    PWP!
  
[ **Chapter 29 - "Irenic"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/65161597) `Hades & Hythlodaeus`.  
    Lahabrea goads Hades into an argument. It backfires.
  
[ **Chapter 30 - "Parental"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/65204704) `Solus zos Galvus`.  
    The Crown Prince is born.
  
[ **Chapter 31 - "Splinter"** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/65248525) `Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light`.  
    Hades is a fragment of what he once was, but he's always with her.
  
[ **Chapter 32 - Final Word** ;](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248936/chapters/65249533)  
  



	2. Crux - Zenos/Warrior of Light

A blow for a blow.

Zenos wretched away, oozing darkness from his gaping wound—and he grinned. For theirs was a lethal dance, the ebb and flow of violence. His heart sang at every slash against his skin, every puncture of nail and tooth, every fissure of blood—every breath she took, labored and broken. 

Warrior of Light. The Mothercrystal’s greatest legacy. His beast.

Oh, how she bled for him.

She held her side, and through her fingers seeped crystal light. A flood of it, thick and true. Fatal. It was there, in her eyes, this realization she was at duty’s end.

But he would not have it.

“Stand. We are not yet through,” Zenos took a dangerous step forward, “—I am not finished with you.”

“It’s over.”

“No,” he hissed, “We are _gods_ on this stage of Darkness and Light. Zodiark and Hydaelyn both. Will you not dance with me one last time? Do you not yearn as I do—to cut and kill? We were _born_ for this, you and I. Will you not do me this last honor?”

She sighed, falling to her knees. “Darkness has triumphed over the Light this day. You—Zodiark... you’ve won. And isn’t that what you always wanted? To defeat me on common ground? As equals? Well—“ she smiled, but it was weak. “—you have.”

“No. There is vigor within you yet. Come— _show me_.”

Zenos lunged forward with Zodiark’s Darkness—and with every last onze of energy, she deflected. The force of their clash—it brought her low. Light spilled from her mouth. Her breaths weakened still. There, she lay, a shattered form—a pale in comparison to her past glory.

Was it, truly, the end?

Zenos knelt beside her. Her villain, her killer—yet she smiled. “I did as you asked of me,” she said, “For the time between the seconds, I lived. I hungered. I fought. Will you not grant me succor?”

“Succor,” he echoed. His fingers brushed along her tear-streaked cheek. He should grant her succor, indeed. Run her through and honor her with a death worth her radiance. But he hesitated. Why? He had never paused in thought to those he’d slain before this. So, why now? Why her?

Did his heart not beat for the thrill of battle alone? Did it not yearn for the kill? 

His heart murmured her name for a different reason—and wasn’t that the crux of the matter? He’d felt nothing before her, wished for nothing, fought for nothing. Then, his world become naught but her grace, her nearness, the dance only they could ever understand. Why?

Her fingers grasped weakly at his wrist, the touch knocking him out of his reverie. The light in her eyes—it was dim.

“Just so,” he whispered.

Zenos gathered her in his arms. He raked his fingers through her light-soaked hair, and she sighed. Her body eased against him, relaxed, and she closed her eyes. Waiting, in hope that she could finally rest. 

With a keening of darkness, all-devouring, they ceased to exist.

For without his beast, he was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	3. Sway - Hades/Azem, Hades/Hythlodaeus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sway: Control or influence (a person or course of action): _he's easily swayed by other people._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is in the same vein as [Consider: The Cat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22291717). Check it out!

Hades sat in his plush office, reveling in the near quiet. Reading over the latest report from the Convocation. Diacus purred gently beside him on the desk and stretched out to claim more space—and Hades let him. They’d come a long way from his conceptual testing cycle. Diacus still refused to eat food shy of perfection, and still upheaved it all over the floor just because he could. Waking him up in the early morning hours with mischief was still commonplace. Except now, he didn’t quite mind. The cat had won him over, much to his dismay.

But he would not be taken for a fool again.

The sound of merriment floated from down the hall, outside his apartment’s door. Hades let out a cutting sigh. The flush of soul-green—meaning naught but mischief was afoot—nearly blinded him. And there were only two individuals that could radiate that precise shade _together_.

Hythlodaeus and Azem burst in—and he wasn’t glad for it. His sanctuary of quiet had been tainted.

“Oh, Hades,” Hythlodaeus sang.

“We have a new concept for you!” Azem chimed in.

Hades rolled his eyes. “No. My office is _closed_. No more concepts this week.”

“I think he’s a trite bit grumpy today, wouldn’t you say, Azem?”

“Hm.” Azem perched her hand under her chin and studied him. “I think you may be right. Perhaps, we might tread a little more carefully this day.”

Under her gaze, Hades blushed a shade too pink. Felt a bit dazed with butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. But that was how she had sway over him, wasn’t it? Through charm. Both of them, in fact. Hythlodaeus with his deep, solid friendship, and Azem with her beautiful gray eyes, pretty face and—

“Enough,” Hades snapped, more at himself. “Whatever concept you might have today—it will go through rigorous testing. More difficult than those earlier in the week. I will not have _another_ spider—“ he shuddered, “—let loose on Amaurot. No more spiders.”

“But this isn’t a spider, dear all-knowing Emet-Selch, of whom we love quite dearly—“ Hythlodaeus oozed, sending a look to Azem.

“Yes, we do love you quite dearly. And it isn’t a spider!” Azem fumbled through her bag and put a concept crystal on his desk. “It’s something spectacular. A corvid.”

“A what?”

“A corvid,” Hythlodaeus clarified. “A bird. But this one—is absolutely something, you shall see!”

Hades tapped his pen methodically on the table. _Tap, tap, tap_. Time was running out—but all the more satisfying was the way Hythlodaeus immediately huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. His dear friend _hated_ the sound.

“Our dear Hades is ruthless today,” Hythlodaeus groused. “It’s a bird, yes. And we need it tested. It has no purpose other than providing Amaurot with a different variety of bird. We cannot simply have one. It is quite boring.”

“This conversation is boring, yet I suffer it all the same. You and the citizens of Amaurot can suffer one type of bird.” Hades avoided Azem’s eyes and pet Diacus, drawing forth more purring. She sat on the edge of his desk, a ploy he expected from her partner-in-crime, Hythlodaeus. Her perfume invaded his senses, and he melted a little. Lilac and vanilla. His favorite scents in all creation. At his very core, he bubbled with warmth and happiness—the need to create nibbling at his fingertips. This urge—it was disastrous.

“Three… two… one…” Hythlodaeus chirped.

A brilliant blue butterfly popped into existence—just like it always did. 

“And there it is!”

“Would you _please_?” Hades hissed, sending Hythlodaeus a glare of daggers. His dear friend only chuckled.

“Will you test this concept for us? We would so appreciate it,” Azem said, leaning in conspiratorially, “It is a part of our quota. We have not been… so studious as of late.” Even quieter. “Especially Hythlodaeus.”

“Is he all right?” Concern was his first reaction. Then, “—or is he just being lazy?”

“Perhaps a bit of both.”

Hades leaned back in his chair and shot Hythlodaeus a look. Studying him. His dearest friend gave him a beaming smile, but it was not of the same brilliance he usually expected from him. His posture, his mannerisms altogether—a little more haggard. Possibly from conceptualizing and creating so much in the last week.

It was enough to break his resistance.

“Fine,” Hades said eventually, “But none of your charms will hold sway over me—not this time. A thorough, honest and fair test, like I said. We do not need any more birds. But, I will give this my full consideration. This… corvid.”

“You may call it a crow,” Hythlodaeus supplied.

“Do I have to name it?” Hades hissed, harking back to Diacus’ testing cycle.

“No, it’s just—“

“Daeus, then. Because, undoubtedly, this concept is nothing but nonsense. And you, my dear friend, are the peddler of such, are you not?”

Hythlodaeus chuckled again. “And here, I thought you loved me less.”

Azem huffed a sigh. “Are we done? You two can flirt on your own time. I must needs be off yet again. Lahabrea has tasked me with fetching _four different bones_ for one of his lectures. In the Southern Region.”

Both Hades and Hythlodaeus winced. The Southern Region—most dangerous.

They each said their goodbye’s, and soon, Hades was left alone with the concept’s crystal. Diacus had finally roused, swatting at it and losing interest because it didn’t spin. With a deep steadying breath, Hades touched the crystal, bringing forth life and form. It swirled, blue motes of light coming together, solidifying—

“Please. Not another spider.”

—into exactly what he expected. A bird. Not a small chickadee, with tiny eyes and various hues of feathers. No. This one was much bigger, as black as sin, with large inquisitive eyes. It turned its head, not unlike its tiny cousin, yet its intelligence consumed much more. Particularly Diacus.

And the two—they had a standoff, of pure determined wills. Staring. Neither of them moving. Gauging each other with a curiosity only two smarter beings could. It was Diacus that made the first move. He lifted his paw, stretching it out slowly. Slowly, like frozen molasses, toward his intended target. So slowly, that Hades considered brewing a spot of tea. Slower still, until Diacus finally, with lightning speed, bopped the crow on its head.

The crow cawed. The sound was loud, startling, and Hades flinched. Diacus, braver than the two of them, lifted his paw for another swat. And the bird, daringly, nipped him right on a toe bean. The cat sputtered over his desk, then flew off it and into another room. Yowling in utter defeat.

Hades didn’t know if he was impressed with the bird—or scared.

:::

Neither.

It was a godsdamned _pest_. Just like Hythlodaeus.

—and just as mischievous.

Early the next morning, Hades had found a veritable nest built from the twigs of his favorite plant. Tuffs of Diacus’ fur made the makeshift mess more comfortable. And worse still, several of his most precious things—baubles from Azem’s many adventures no less—

Had been used to, what? Make it more aesthetically appealing?

Hades had doubted it was so vain—unless it had adopted that part of Hythlodaeus too.

He pondered it that night, and woke up to a crash of sound and mischief. Diacus, possibly. Beloved were his nighttime rituals of chasing nothing and yowling _for no reason_. Yet the cat—was on his bed, now alert, watching the bedroom door. The bird, then, breaking hells knew what.

Clutching Diacus, Hades braved the hallway beyond his room. Tiptoeing, as it were, like Azem might when approaching a monstrous foe, to the bathroom. There was a rustle of feathers. The sound of talons on porcelain. Diacus tensed in his arms when Hades opened the door. He turned on the light and—

Daeus, the bastardly crow, sat there, on the sink, with a dagger in its beak.

And just as slowly, as carefully as he had, Hades shut the door and escaped—Diacus in tow.

:::

A week later, after nighttime run-ins, numerous broken trinkets and a traumatized Diacus, Hades sat in his office. Absolutely exhausted. The two tell-tale green splotches of color told him Hythlodaeus and Azem had come—

He yawned through the typical greetings. Coming to only to find that Daeus, the crow, had flown off with his pen. The only thing that had any control over Hythlodaeus. Hades narrowed his eyes on his two dearest friends. Enough was enough.

“This concept of a corvid, a crow—whatever you want to call it,” Hades began, “—is an absolute disaster. It has no redeeming qualities. Diacus and I woke up to a _bird_ wielding _a knife_.”

“Hm,” Hythlodaeus pondered, hooked finger to chin. “It seems it attained your great sense of adventure, Azem! A great success! It will be a great warrior yet, I think.”

Azem nodded. “Yes, quite impressive. Perhaps it will do as a companion on my next outing.”

“It would be—if the concept is approved, of which it will not,” Hades interjected, “And you, my dearest friend Hythlodaeus. It didn’t get away without absorbing a bit of your personality, as well. Vanity. The bird had the audacity to collect my trinkets and decorate its nest with them. Which is by—“

“Perhaps, it just likes you,” Hythlodaeus interrupted, “Far be it that I, too, ‘collect’ things just for the sake of it. Although, now that you mention it, I do love anything shiny.”

“Yes, you do!” Azem blurted, “I try to find things particularly sparkly just for you.”

“You’re so sweet—and my favorite,” Hythlodaeus oozed.

“Enough,” Hades hissed. “Take the concept and leave. It will not be approved.”

“ _Please_ ,” the two of them chorused.

“You two hold no sway over me. Leave.”

His dearest friends pouted, and it was at that opportune time that the crow cawed its dissent. But—it was a different sound than its usual terrifying noise. No. This was something else. It had more vocal formation. Was it a word? Did it actually spe—

“… is that?” Azem whispered.

“It sounds like—“ Hythlodaeus returned, “—like…”

The crow squawked its word again, as clear as day.

“… Persephone,” Hythlodaeus beamed. “It said your name, Azem. And that means…”

“Did you not say that only vigorous repetition would teach the bird a new word?” Azem chimed in. 

“Indeed, I did. Hades? Your thoughts on this matter?”

Hades didn’t respond. Couldn’t because he’d simply died of embarrassment. He may have said her name once or twice—or a hundred times. But it didn’t matter. The damage was done.

“I didn’t know of that little trick,” Hades shot out. Defeated.

Victorious, the crow squawked again. This time.. a different word, yet crystal clear.

“It said… Hythlodaeus,” Azem said in wonder.

When Hades dared to look up, the hue of Hythlodaeus’ soul—brighter than he had ever seen it. The dullness of color he had witnessed a week ago… it was all gone, replaced with such vibrancy, it took his breath away. Suffused in the rose-gold of hope. Their eyes met for a long moment, and Hythlodaeus’ grin grew. Azem, too, was grinning.

“You like me,” Hythlodaeus said at length.

But it was much more than that, wasn’t it?

Hades cleared his throat. “Take your concept home—or, out on adventures, what have you.”

“Does this mean…?” Azem asked.

“Yes, it’s approved! Please. I beg you. Leave me in peace.”

His two dearest friends left, high on triumph, with their concept in tow. He had no sway over them, that was for certain. But spare a kind word, a wink, a smile, and he would do anything for them—just to see the brilliance of their souls.

And he was glad for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A crow with a knife? How odd, right? It actually happened in real life! Canuck the Crow stole a knife from a crime scene in Vancouver, and that's how he got famous—and he's the inspiration for this mischievous corvid, Daeus! Look him up if you're curious!
>
>> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
>> 
>> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	4. Muster - Hades/Hythlodaeus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Muster: summon up (a particular feeling, attitude, or response): _he finally mustered up the courage to ask._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation from Chapter 3: Sway. And gosh, I’ve been wanting to write something like this for a long time! <33

Hades paced in his office. It was midday, and a week after the corvid concept had been approved. Since then, he hadn’t taken on any new conceptual testing—or, rather, seen anyone at all. He’d sent Azem home when she called on him last, even turned away her chocolate chip cookies, his favorite. They thought he was under the weather. Just the other day, Hythlodaeus himself came too, singing him a tune outside his locked door. The hues of his dearest friend’s soul had begun to fade again. And with every minute Hades had refused to open the door, they grew paler still. That loss of hope, a rose-gold sapped of all its vibrancy—it hurt him.

Worse, it scared him.

So, he paced. Back and forth, until he wore a hole in his carpet. Wondering, pondering, fretting. What did Hythlodaeus’ colors mean? When he’d stated, “You like me,” and soul flashed with such brilliance—of course, he liked his dearest friend. To think otherwise, that would simply be absurd. So—

Diacus let out a strange noise. A type of throaty chittering, and when Hades dared to look, the cat was staring upward. He followed the line of sight to—the crow, playing with… A necklace?

Hades cut a sigh. “Where did you find that?”

“Hythlodaeus,” Daeus said.

He startled, not because the bird had said his dearest friend’s name, but the fact that these fortuitous series of events had come together at all. Right then. He would deliver the necklace back to Hythlodaeus and confront him.

In his office, all quiet save the pound of his heart, Hades wondered if Daeus the crow had stolen his courage, too.

—and wondered still how exactly he’d get that necklace at all.

:::

Hades had suffered a nip of the beak for his troubles—and outside Hythlodaeus’ apartments, he paced anew. _Muster up your courage, Hades_ , he chided himself. But how? His mind drifted to Azem, to how endlessly brave she’d always been for Amaurot. Couldn’t he somehow—?

Without thinking, Hades knocked on the door. Too much thinking made him a coward. It always had. He must be more like—

The door opened.

“H-Hythlodaeus,” Hades stuttered.

Hythlodaeus leaned in the doorway, his mouth a crook of a smile. “You sound surprised. These are my apartments after all. Who else would you be expecting?” 

Hades frowned. Despite his dearest friend’s charm, his colors were of blue and varying degrees of gray, both devastating and out of place. His hues should be vibrant, of sunny golds and deep purples, grassy greens—and a blue so breathtaking, so splendid—

“Are you simply here to examine the color theory of my soul? Or, are you here for another purpose?”

It, too, was so unlike him to be… this direct. Always was Hythlodaeus so undeniably charming and quick of wit. Yet today, he seemed nothing but tired and alone. Sad. 

“Uh, I came here to…” Hades began, fiddling with the necklace. He stalled, taken by how Hythlodaeus was suddenly so impossibly near. Their eyes met. His was of starling blue behind that mask. He’d always loved his eyes. They had always been an extension of his brilliant smile.

Hythlodaeus brushed his hand—and it was a touch that sparked a million questions. Was it more than simply enjoying everything about his dearest friend? His smile, the depth of his blue eyes—the way his laugh always filled the room? Enough charm to make even the droll Lahabrea and Elidibus smile.

_You like me._

It was more than that, wasn’t it?

“Ah, I’d been looking for this,” Hythlodaeus said, a touch above a whisper. Dangling the necklace in front of his face. “My dearest Hades, always so kind.”

_Say something. Find your courage, you fool._

“I—“ Hades stammered. Azem. Be brave. ”Of course… I—“

Hythlodaeus stayed still and silent, allowing Hades his space to expand.

“I like you,” he said ultimately, then swallowed hard. “I mean, of course, I like you. Why would you think otherwise? Have I done something to—”

“I love you, you idiot,” Hythlodaeus stated. Cool and calm, as if he’d named the color of the sun. “Are you so oblivious? I have been in love with you since—it feels like since the dawn of time. How could you not know?”

Hades wavered on his feet. The force of his confession drove him back, against the wall opposite Hythlodaeus’ apartment. The ground could swallow him up—and would he mind it? How could he be so blind? To not notice his dearest friend was—

“You didn’t know,” he heard Hythlodaeus say. “And here, all this time, I thought you didn’t like me at all.”

Hades snapped his gaze up, lips tight and brows furrowed. “How could you ever think that? How do you not know that I look at you as if you’d hung the stars?”

The sudden flush of hope in Hythlodaeus’ soul—it was intense, striking in its luster. Hythlodaeus took a step forward and reached out, cupping his face in his hands. Hades reveled in the warmth on his skin, the smell of him so close. Juniper and—cotton candy?

“May I?”

Hades nodded his consent, for what he didn’t know. Then, it happened. Hythlodaeus pressed his lips against his own, soft as a feather, more permission than anything else. His dearest friend tasted like cotton candy, he confirmed, and Hades surged up against his mouth to discover more. Abundant sweetness and a little dash of spice—one of Hythlodaeus’ confectionery binges, then. As sugary as he, and spiked with mischief. 

Their kiss—anything but.

It was heated, blazing against his mouth like the sun. They tore through time and space in that single moment, trying to make up for missed opportunities. Hythlodaeus let his thumbs brush over cheekbones, while Hades was far more greedy, touch-starved and yearning. His hands roamed to Hythlodaeus’ waist, pulling him in closer as to embolden their embrace. Their kiss grew more urgent, messy—and an undeniable heat elsewhere began to burn.

It was too much, too quickly.

Hades spread his hands across Hythlodaeus’ broad chest in surrender.

“I must go—and think,” he whispered, “This.. it isn’t a rejection. I just… I just need to think. Please.”

“Take all the time in the world, dearest Hades,” Hythlodaeus said.

Hades broke free of their impossible heat and escaped down the hall. He turned to Hythlodaeus’ at the last second. “Did you… leave that necklace on purpose?”

Hythlodaeus gave him a half smile. “Maybe.” And his soul was impossibly green.

That night, Hades thought of Azem, his love for her—and dreamt of Hythlodaeus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	5. Clinch - Verity Iverness Origins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clinch - confirm or settle (a contract or a bargain): _they clinched the deal with a lie._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **!! Warning !!** This ficlet has dark themes and depicts the attempted prostitution of an assumed minor (Verity is actually 18).

_“He thinks you’re pure and much younger than you are. Don’t give him a reason to think otherwise. It was the only thing that could clinch the deal—the sick nervous fuck.”_

_“Yes, governess—I mean, Mistress! I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me.”_

_“It wouldn’t be prudent to bruise the goods before transport, no. So, I’ll let it slip this once. You had better get used to our world and quickly,” The Cloak scolded, “Information about the jewels—I need it. Get it, however you must. And I mean,_ however you must.”

:::

The Shadow smoothed the bright silk of her dress with shaking hands. Virgin white, pure as new-fallen snow in Coerthas, just like The Mark had asked. Her face had been painted to lighten her skin, a bit of blush kissing her cheeks. She was to be younger, not her eighteen summers, but sweeter still. More innocent. More vulnerable.

Easily taken.

“Information,” she whispered, “However I must.”

The door to the grand home opened. Inside stood a thin, reedy man with haunting eyes. The heir of a fishing dynasty here in Ul’dah, her Mistress—The Cloak—had said. This family had jewels that would make them rich, set up their institution for life. All she needed to do was play the part.

“Not as pretty as I would have liked,” The Mark groused, “But I suppose you will have to do. Come inside. Quickly.”

The Shadow did as bade, scuffling inside. She’d learned from her Mistress that men like these, powerful before maturity, preferred submissive women—or girls. She had spent months alone on keeping her gaze down, not meeting the eyes of anyone—lower rank or otherwise. Months more on speaking softer, using delicate movements. Serving beyond her means. She’d wash feet to thread humility into her skin; feed her Mistress by hand, because in so doing, she would learn to serve a man—and do whatever it took to succeed.

Here, she would do just that. Succeed. However she must.

“In here,” The Heir said.

The marble on the floor spread endlessly in front of her—then abruptly stopped, melting into a plush rug. So soft and white against the warm tan of her bare feet. She wanted to touch it, ask from what animal the pelt had been ripped. But she kept still and silent. No quick movements, just like she’d been taught. Eyes down. Always.

Somewhere, a roar of fire and the warmth of flames. She smelled smoke and ember, and the air warmed her skin. A lit fireplace to set the mood, then. She wondered if he’d be gentle with her—or if he’d hurt her.

“How old are you?” came the snap of a question.

The Mark stopped in front of her. His clothing adorned in riches and made of the finest fabrics. His boots clean and polished. The sheathed dagger at his hip made of the finest steel. She’d once dreamed she’d be a tailor, a leatherworker or a blacksmith when she was older. Crafting pretty things for pretty people. But that died when her mother did, long ago. Now, she was younger than she was and pure. Nothing else.

“As young as you think I am, Ser,” she answered. Softly.

“That’s not an answer, whelp,” The Heir snapped, “I requested pure, yet you have a whore’s look about you. Are you a whore, girl?”

“I am whatever it is you wish of me, Ser,” she whispered.

His nearness overcame her. He was leaning, lips too close to her ear. Her body revolted. The whiskey on his breath suffocated her. Then, his voice, like a snake in her bed. 

“I suppose we’ll see how pretty you spread for me, won’t we?”

His hand reached low, to grab between her legs—but he didn’t get that far. Her fingers were too quick for her mind, for him, and they grasped him savagely. A flight-or-fight reaction that hadn’t been beaten out of her. The Heir gasped and jumped away out of her reach. Screeched, “You will pay for that!” and lunged for her.

She was quick, but not quick enough. Suddenly, there was a clinch knot looped over her head—and she hadn’t a clue from where he’d plucked it. It tightened around her throat, and her lungs were robbed of air. Adrenaline feasted on her bones, her fingernails scrabbling for purchase. She clawed at him, but he didn’t relent. Her desperate hands searched along his body—and found steel.

“I am _not pure_ ,” The Shadow hissed. Lodging the dagger into his throat.

The Mark stumbled back, clutching the gaping wound. Blood pouring through his fingers. He hit the opposite wall, fumbled, and a fine vase tumbled and shattered. But that wasn’t the end of him. Somehow, he had enough strength to crawl towards her, murder in his fast-fading eyes. 

The Shadow held the blade high—and struck again.

“Or soft.” Again. “Or delicate.” Again. “Or humble.”

She’d been taught not to look men straight in the eyes, but she did this time. Watching the life extinguish from his cold brown _dead_ gaze. His blood stained the soft, white rug red, red, red, and The Shadow spread her tan fingers over its fur. 

Coeurl, she thought. 

:::

_“What did I say? I said get the information however you must! And did you?”_

_“No, Mistress.”_

_“No, you did not. Her Lady Reverence will punish you utterly. Do you understand?”_

_“Yes, Mistress.”_

:::

She’d been taught, too, to fear The Lady. 

The Shadow had been shuffled to a great mansion, tucked away in the woods. The fog had rolled in to attend her funeral, she thought. Pillowy and white, hovering just above the ground where she’d soon be buried six feet under. A satisfying end to her life. Back to the earth, unnamed and forgotten.

“Come. We mustn’t keep her waiting,” The Cloak said. 

She followed behind her Mistress, and inside was dark and haunting, just like The Heir’s dead eyes. Shadows licked along the walls and snuffed out the candlelight. The outside world’s light fought to break through the windows, but couldn’t. For they were caked over in dirt and spider’s webs.

An ill-suited place for a Lady.

She stepped over a dead mouse on her way up the stairs. Her bruised hands traced the bowed backbone of the banister, its dark wood dusty and unused. No one lived here, she concluded. The Lady was simply a child’s tale. But it was through another hallway and a grand door that the mansion truly came alive. It flushed with bright light and warmth, of luxurious rugs from all over creation. The smell of fresh bread and cheese thundered in her stomach, and her eyes found the beauty of paintings, statues, and velvet curtains. Of far richer things than The Heir could have ever dreamed. And within another darker room, tucked behind a grand desk and chair, a woman loomed.

“Your Lady Reverence,” The Cloak whispered, “I have brought you The Shadow for punishment.”

“Her crime?” came a lovely voice.

The Shadow kept her eyes wisely to the floor. Dark mahogany. No coeurl.

“She—The Heir. His jewels. It was the information we needed to prop up our Institution. With it, we wouldn’t—“

“I am aware,” Her Lady reverence said. “And—?”

“The Heir is dead by her hands, and we have no information on the jewels whereabouts,” The Cloak supplied.

“Leave us,” The Lady answered.

The Cloak, her Mistress, paused. A moment of hesitation before she whispered, “As you wish, my Lady Reverence.”

The door shut, and silence devoured her whole. The Shadow traced the cracks in the floor, to a single hair of long dark silk. She wanted to twirl it around her fingers, if only to wait out the quiet. The suspense palpable on her skin, weaving its way down her spine. _Always keep your eyes down_ , she reminded herself.

The _tap, tap_ of heeled boots. The sudden kiss of lilies and chamomile. Fresh and delicate in this room of perpetual darkness and gloom. Only the lit fireplace kept her sane—and there was no blood on the floor.

“Tell me what happened, my dear girl,” The Lady whispered.

“Yes, Your Lady Reverence,” she answered obediently, “The Heir. I needed to get information—and I failed.”

“Mm. Tell me again. But in your words.”

“But my words mean nothing. I am nothing without The Order,” she supplied.

The Lady exhaled, and it sounded like disappointment.

“I—I,“ she stuttered. “I was… younger than I am. And pure. Just like The Heir liked. And when—when he tried to touch me, I—I don’t know what happened. I just… reacted.”

“And you killed him,” The Lady finished.

“Yes, Your Lady Reverence.”

“And what does The Order say about disobedience?”

She swallowed. “That I should be beat or worse.”

“And what is worse than being beat?”

“Being cast out,” The Shadow concluded.

“Indeed,” The Lady said.

The _tap, tap_ of heeled boots on wood again—this time, walking away. More unbelievable quiet. The fireplace crackled its dissent, and suddenly, her skin was far too warm. That anger again, that stubbornness—it bubbled up inside her and gushed.

“Am I to be cast out, then?” she snapped, “For defending myself? He was going to fucking _kill me_. Do you not care? How little do our lives mean to you? Too many girls like me have disappeared, and this is why? Because they’ve somehow failed to be pretty or quiet or pure? How dare you.”

“Just because you cannot see them does not mean they have disappeared,” The Lady returned gently. “They have merely Ascended.”

The ultimate dream. Ascension. To be employed by the Lady Herself—

“Ascension?” she echoed. “Am I to be—“

“You have Ascended, my dear. For your fearlessness. Your sense of self. I do not employ mindless dolls, but fierce women. Those who have a stake in their own dreams and lives. And you—” The Lady whispered, “—are exactly the Daughter I need.”

From The Shadow to The Daughter. A life of brutal servitude to the Ascended. No more would she have to be quiet or pretty, but a lethal killer in the night. Not a toy for men, but a justicar of truth. Her own person, dreams and desires. Not a title, but her own name again.

Verity Iverness.

“Thank you… Mother.”

The Daughter looked up, leveled her eyesight with that of the Mother—and they both smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	6. Matter of Fact - Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matter of Fact - something that belongs to the sphere of fact as distinct from opinion and conjecture. _he liked this, as a matter of fact._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lyril. Thank you for supporting me always and talking to me about everything FFXIV. Here's some porn/pegging for you! <333333

The dying light of the sun warmed his skin. Hades lay in her plush bed, bare backside to the world. Dozing as it were, as the soft breeze from an open window kissed his face. He shifted once, settling his chin on overlapping hands. Comfortable.

Waiting.

 _Will you wait in there for me?_ She’d asked. _I want to try something new._

His aching cock was testament to how excited he’d been at the prospect. But that was a full bell ago, and she was still primping in the bathroom. Long enough for him to nose through her belongings, as was his wont. To take stock of her lavish lodgings at the Quicksand. And to find an incredibly wonderful spot to nap. It would take the Twelve Themselves to rouse him.

Finally, the door opened.

Hades stirred, craning his neck—

“Don’t look!”

—only to huff and settle back down.

“Who would have guessed that the veritable Warrior of Light was so bloody good at suspense?” he nipped. “I am liable to fall asleep before you muster up the courage to do whatever it is you’re planning.”

The pitter-patter of her bare feet. He popped open one eye to catch her in his peripheral—then twisted his torso to devour her. Beautiful as she ever was, surely, with a black negligee and a—cock? 

His smile couldn’t have been more devious. “Well, well, well. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. The passage of time and humanity is something I vaguely remember, true. But I hadn’t realized I’d waited eons for you to evolve and grow yourself a cock. How wonders never cease.”

Verity Iverness let out a little yelp and leapt onto the bed. She covered herself up and if looks could kill, he would certainly be in the Lifesteam— _again_. “I told you not to look.”

“Oh, my dear. When have I ever truly listened to you?” Hades oozed. “Come. Let me see.”

Verity crossed her arms over her chest, defiant. But there was something else. The faint waver in her body, her muscles tight as coils. Her jaw set impeccably tight though not from anger—from nervousness. She had a tale-tale tick when she was unsure of herself, and she struggled to keep her hands away from her face, just so he wouldn’t know the truth of it. He waited. She couldn’t help it, and tucked a haphazard twill of hair behind her ear.

Nervous indeed.

“Please,” he said sweetly.

Verity rolled her eyes then took a deep breath, mustering up her courage. Then, she straightened, kneeling brave and true on the mattress. It was attached with straps—this cock of hers. Finely constructed, he could see. Hades motioned her to come forward and she did. To the touch, it was almost life-like. The rounded tip, the shaft, veins and all. Not carved, no—the material was too soft and pliable for that, but—

His eyes narrowed to slits. “A mold? Whose cock is it, pray tell?”

Verity nibbled on her bottom lip—another sign of uncertainty. She squared her shoulders after a moment and said clearly, “An engineer once enlisted under the rulership of the Empire, as a matter of fact. A self-proclaimed genius, of which I am bound to believe. Nero tol Scaeva, as he was known.”

Hades rolled the name around in his head. “I have never heard of him.”

“Mm, yes. He said you might say that.”

There was danger in that statement. His interest sparked anew, then darkened and soured. “How do you know this engineer? This _Nero tol Scaeva_?” When she didn’t say anything… “Another one of your conquests?”

“He and I had a tryst, yes.”

“Splendid,” Hades groused. “Excited am I to be fucked by one of your past dalliances. May he be as good to me as he was, obviously, to you.”

He bit back any further jealousy, ripe and ready on his tongue, and returned to his lazy repose—basking in the sunlight, chin balancing on overlapping hands. A breath or two, and he stepped into the plane between sleep and wakefulness. Still painfully aroused and waiting. A bit sour, but still just as needy.

But nothing happened. Just stillness and quiet. Or was it hesitation and shyness? 

“Go on, then,” he mused. “Let us hope you’re as good at wielding a cock as you are a sword.”

“It’s okay then? You want this?” That tremble in her voice—it was endearing all the same.

“I couldn’t be more pleased,” Hades said flatly. “Truly.”

Another one of his turns, as it happened. From an agreeable beam of light to a simmering storm. His mood swings had become more insufferable under his complete humanity. And at the slightest cross breeze—

“Will you pass me the oil?” she asked.

“Do you not also have hands?”

—he could turn nasty.

Verity always took it in stride, the saint, and did so this time with merely a huff. She was on him suddenly, leaning forward. Her breasts brushed his backbone, her nipples like soft water-worn pebbles. He imagined drawing them into his mouth, suckling on them until he died of pleasure. Her warmth overwhelmed him, hotter than the sun. A whisper of lilies and chamomile woke him—and the false cock along his backside drove him feral.

The very thought of it there, where it needed to be—

Hades remained still, dormant like a viper, then struck. When she reached over him, toward the nightstand, he snatched her chin and crushed their mouths together. Their kisses—they were always self-indulgent, full of _take, take, take_ even after his fall into utter humanity. Not gentle, but insistent. Greedy.

She collapsed like a house of cards on top of him.

The weight of her body, flush over his—he’d learned it meant safety. Their bodies naked, pressed skin-to-skin—it helped him heal. The nightmares were beginning to fade, the flood of emotions more and more manageable. The fact that he was forgetting—somehow less devastating.

And when she kissed his temple, beckoning him back to _here_ and _now_ , Hades listened and did as she bade.

He’d missed the fumbling of oil. The cock had been slicked and was pressing length-wise to his backside, slipping between the cleft but not yet penetrating him. She sought to tease him, like he’d teased her so many times before, denying him the act he so yearned for. He let out a noise, and Verity swallowed it down with soft lips and a nip of teeth. For a moment, he thought he might resort to begging. Then, he thought the better of it.

He’d take control instead, as he always had. But Verity, clever girl, was one step ahead of him.

The thread of fingers through his hair was tight. A perfect blend of forgiveness and pain. It put a lid on his budding frustrations, his impatience.

“You’ll behave for me, won’t you? Or do you need to be punished?”

A shiver ran up his spine. _Punish me_ ready on his lips. 

Hades opened his mouth, then shut it when Verity produced yet another contraption. Small, and when she turned it on, vibrating. She reached back and she shifted, letting out a soft, broken groan.

“Perhaps, I’ll let you find it later.”

A shattered promise, her voice husky, breaking of sex.

“I am more likely to expire of old age before you _get to it_ , my dear—and whatever it is I am supposed to find will be naught but dust. Tick-tock, hero.”

That earned him an open-palmed swat on his backside, like he knew it would. He bucked into the mattress, and let out the fissure of a sigh, high on need and adrenaline. In his humanity, he chased after pain more often than he should, and with another swat, he may outright explode. 

So, he tested his luck—and grabbed his hard aching length. His weary Wanderer graced him with another smack. Then, a haunting whisper.

“If you come before I’ve penetrated you, you’ll be sorry. Am I absolutely clear?”

He thumbed his slit and groaned. “Yes.”

“Then, you’ll do well not to touch yourself unless I allow it.”

Hades smiled. It was a slip of a thing. “Or what?”

The third slap rang out and brought with it a bite of pain. His hips swayed, and a single pump of his own slick hand pushed him to the edge. One more touch and he’d be gone—and he was _right there_.

But did he truly want to disappoint her?

He shifted and spread both hands on the mattress, where she could see. Her pleasure was immediate and she crooned a sweet, “Good boy.”

—and it drove him mad.

“By your Twelve, would you just fuck me already?”

Verity chuckled. It was dark, full of false promises. “I will when I’m good and ready.”

More oil, and slick agile fingers teased at his hole, although it was just the tips. An exploratory push and prod made him huff out his impatience. The very light squeeze of his balls—Hades pressed his head into the pillow, swallowing shallow then deep breaths. He thought of something else than this, anything else, lest he crest prematurely. One of Lahabrea’s agonizing lectures. The on-and-on of his monotone voice. Elidibus’ passion for his duty, and his ultimate undoing. Hythlodaeus’ brilliant smile—could he even remember it? He didn’t dream of it anymore.

That pull at his hair again, the angle of it straining his neck. 

He floated back down to their shared rooms at the Quicksand. The light breeze over his naked skin. His body primed, on the far edge of completion. Her cock was deep inside him now, his hole stretched to discomfort—which was all the more arousing. Impossibly full, yet it was that alone that made him feel safe.

A gentle brush of thumbs along his collarbone. A kiss at the nape of his neck. Both of them asking permission.

He nodded, and Verity reared back then pushed deep. No resistance. Just pleasure running him through, separating him in ways that robbed him of breath. Slow like this, lovemaking—he suddenly understood why she disliked it on days she just wanted to be ruined. The vulnerability picked at his bones. Suddenly, he wanted to escape. 

Verity knew.

—and destroyed him with the next. He came alive, rearing up on all fours, angling his hips just so, that she might get the better of him. The first thrust in their new position—it hit him in all the wrong places, and she spared a soft touch in apology. The second, third and fourth more of the same. By the fifth—gods, the fifth...

Hades met every single one after that, his body greedy for every inch of her. Her shallow thrusts soon weren’t enough, and he reached back to grab her hip—to draw her closer, and subsequently deeper. Her next struck him precisely where he needed it, and his fractured groan gave her the confidence she’d been lacking. More brave, less frightened of hurting him, perhaps, she drove home so hard, so perfectly—

—he saw their constellations before his eyes. 

For each one after, he forced his hips back to greet hers, that her cock might hit inside him even more true. Still, he needed more. That need for control—she hated that about him. Hated it here, too, by the way she grabbed his arm and pinned it to the small of his own back. Holding it there and using it as leverage. A delicate hand took secure purchase on his shoulder—

—and it was all over.

She fucked him as hard as she could, and Hades lost the will to breathe with every jolt. His climax hung on the precipice, but he knew he couldn’t come on this alone. His fingers searched for his own cock, curling around its hard length. He had promised not to come without her permission, didn’t he? He couldn’t remember—and in the haze of sex and _almost there_ , he defied everything and fucked into his fist. Two hard pumps, his fingers a merciless cage of heat. He imagined her under him, speared on his cock, screaming his name.. her tight, wet cunt.. 

Behind him, she keened—and he couldn’t hold it in any longer. 

With a cry of his own, he spilled all over his hand, hot and sticky. He collapsed, and her with him; the two of them breathing in tandem in the stench of their sex.

After a while, her broken whisper cut through the silence.

“Did I not ask you to seek permission?”

Hades huffed. “Yes, yes. Punish me if you must. But please, after I have taken a nap, hm? I am absolutely exhausted.”

“Fine,” she surrendered. “You’ll not like what I have in store.”

Hades grumped and flipped on his stomach, reveling in the soft breeze. When all was unbearably silent... 

“Who did you say this engineer was? I would like to give him my accolades. In person. I quite liked his cock.”

Verity made a sound of derision and hit him with a pillow. His cheeky smile didn’t waver, even in his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	7. Smile - Zenos & Warrior of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today was a free day, so I picked “smile.” It’s very short because I can’t stay in this headspace for very long. Just thinking about how Emet-Selch’s death has truly affected Verity (and me) hurts a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: **This deals with depression and a suicide attempt.****

A moment of neglect—that was all it had taken. She smiled one day after weeks of sorrow, and it was a breath of hope and light he needed in this darkest of storms. A ribbon of reassurance that his beast was on the mend. False, tattered reassurance.

Zenos remembered the night after with stark clarity. The pool of blood beneath her impossibly still form. Her ragged breaths. Weak pleas falling like decaying petals from her lips. She begged him to let her die. For without his great grandfather, she was nothing and couldn’t bear to live.

Their love—it had been astounding. 

But love was something he himself would never feel. Yet in that moment, holding her in his arms, he’d known a primordial fear of losing her to this darkness. 

And didn’t he fear still?

In the weeks after, he cared for her as he had no other. Feeding her. Bathing her. Anointing the scars on her wrists with oil. On the days the sky didn’t cry for her, he took her outside, though he found no joy in it himself. He’d watch the dull gray of her eyes follow the shapes of birds. Watch her blink away the sun, while he gingerly brushed the tangles from her silvery hair.

From then on, when she smiled, whether weak or true, he’d watch her every move. Stalk her and devour her every breath—for if he lost her again, he’d ravaged the land as a cruel, grief-stricken thing. And the world would burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	8. Nonagenarian - Master Matoya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nonagenarian - a person who is between 90 and 99 years old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm. I'm not exactly sure how old Master Matoya is, quite frankly. But even if she's older than the prompt, this can be a little flashback.
> 
> Either way, I remember Master Matoya's broom side-quest. The ending was so touching that I never forgot about it. So, when this prompt came up, I instantly thought of her and Y'shtola's relationship. Just a little something and not too long!

It was just another day in her cave. 

The brooms started sweeping way too early again, when the last vestiges of sleep and dreams had only begun to leave her. She’d dreamt of Y’shtola again. Yet, this time, it wasn’t in remembrance of their better times together. It was the day Y’shtola left to brave the outside world—and the mere thought of it layered her wrinkled skin with a stickiness she couldn’t hope to scrub off.

Master Matoya sat up and rolled her spine. It complained with a symphony of cracks and pops—and she couldn’t quite remember when her body, if it had ever, didn’t hurt. It seemed to take ages getting out of bed lately, too. She’d make up excuses to dally a little longer, if only to avoid the pain of moving about. But today, she had a mission. 

If only she had a broom that could carry her...

Nevertheless, Matoya gathered herself up, stood, and shooed away a broom just under her feet. To the stove then, to brew a cup of tea and begin her day anew. She daydreamed while the water boiled, and when it was ready, she poured it into a cup. Her hands trembled with old age, splashing the water around a bit, but not too much. Today was one of her better days.

Days when it was harder to breathe—those, by far, were the worst. Nights when she woke up not knowing who or where she was—perhaps a sign that her life was drawing to its inevitable end.

No matter. She breathed still, and Matoya carried her cup in arthritic hands to her favorite table next to her favorite bookshelf. She sat down in the chair, and her bones punished her for it. Sitting and standing hurt more than it used to these days. But today, she paid it no mind. No, today, she had more important things to do.

It was hidden behind the bookshelf—and she leaned forward to retrieve her favorite book. The green leather was worn, scarred by constant use and faded with age. She smoothed a knobby hand over it. Still soft and familiar. The day she forgot about this book would be her last, she promised. 

And with that, she opened it and turned to the first page.

Y'shtola’s first drawing when she was but a child. The two of them; stick figures with broad smiles, and a broom to boot. Matoya chuckled to herself. Y’shtola couldn’t sit still that day, and the only thing that seemed to settle her mind was drawing. Oh, what an artist she’d always been.

The more pages Matoya flipped, the older Y’shtola grew. No longer had it been stick figure drawings, but aetheric formulas and studies on all things magical.

Everything Y’shtola had written or drawn or held dear—it was in this book, tucked away so that she might read it whenever she ailed or needed to reminisce. And lately, those days came more often than not—when her body and mind agonized the coming morning.

In her chair, Matoya sat and smiled, sipping her tea and flipping through the years—as brooms began the hustle and bustle of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	9. Clamor - Verity Iverness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clamor - a loud and confused noise, especially that of people shouting vehemently: _the questions rose to a clamor._

Verity Iverness of nine summers didn’t expect the clamor of the crowd to be so loud. It was in the streets of Ul’dah that she found herself, waiting for the right opportunity—the rest of her rabble nearby. Older streets kids who’d attended these games, this free-for-all, numerous times before this. For her? This was new. Living on the streets—she wasn’t yet used to it after a year. The loss of her mother still felt too fresh, too raw. It made her chest ache.

But she couldn’t afford to think about that right now. She had to concentrate on the game. Steal as much as she could before Snake, their leader, shrilled a whistle from one of the rooftops. And as the throng ebbed and flowed with humanity, impossible warmth and a myriad of smells, both good and bad—she readied.

_Watch the tide of the people, Verity. You’ll know when to strike._

There was a piercing demand for food, lower taxes—other words she didn’t understand. And the crowd surged forward in venomous agreement. Their wave broke on a politician, who shouted there was nothing he could do. Then, somewhere a fight. Another loud noise. While Verity flinched and almost fled, her rabble came alive.

Together, they jumped into the frenzy.

Del and Finnel, jovial Lalafell twins, both acted first. Quick were their little hands, and Verity nearly missed the expertise with which they lifted coins from pockets. Nearby, tall and graceful Whinny barely lifted his finger, striking only when a passerby foolishly meandered near his corner. And Arlo—she’d lost sight of him in the crowd. A Hyur with a shock of vibrant red hair shouldn’t be so easy to miss. He was a sneaky one—and mean. 

She kept one eye on the surge of the crowd. Too angry, and the crowd would trample her. Too subdued, and they’d notice her. The tide was perfect, and Verity inched forward, searching. A fight had broken out in the middle. The throng of people buzzed around her like angry bees, shifting to and fro. Someone knocked into her with enough force to send her off-kilter. She stumbled, but righted herself at the last moment. There’d be a bruise, she knew, but it was a matter of fact. Nothing too scary. She could do this.

Quickly, like lightning, just as she’d been taught, she lunged for a coin purse—only to be pushed. Really hard. She fell on her backside and stared up with wild eyes—to find Arlo’s face and his red hair staring back at her. 

“Welcome to the rabble, you little brat. Bet you can’t pick even a single pocket!”

He was gone before her next breath.

Verity wanted to cry. She hurt all over and was scared. Moreover, Arlo had hated her ever since she joined and hated her still. But if she didn’t come home with something, Snake would kick her out—at least, that was what Arlo had told her. Would he? She didn’t know for sure, nor did she want to risk it.

With a grimace, she stood and dusted herself off. Then, she set her silver gaze on the crowd. Fighting still, all around her. The smell of body odor stung her nose. And the wave of humanity surged backward, primed to take her under and crush her with boots and heels. She scurried away. No signs of the rest of the rabble. Was it over? Had she missed Snake’s whistle?

She hunted for someone, anyone, from whom she could steal safely. There. Near a food stand. A dark loner with a long black cloak—an odd choice, she noted, for the dead of summer in Ul’dah. If she crept around, stayed low and quiet, then perhaps—

Verity Iverness did just that, silent as could be. The stranger watched the frenzy of the crowd, making no indication they’d noticed her at all. A coin purse dangled prettily right in her reach, almost too good to be true, and like a tiny viper, she lunged forward. Grabbed the coin purse and pulled it free.

She’d never known such elation. The spike of success, the rush of energy—

Too quick for her mind, a hand snatched her small wrist and twisted. Pain shot through her arm, and she cried out. Her eyes met those of the dark stranger—a woman in a black cloak. 

“I see you, little girl. You’ll remember me—and be assured that I will remember _you_.”

Then, suddenly, the lady was gone and Verity was free—coin purse still in hand. She didn’t question her luck and ran home as quickly as her little legs could carry her.

:::

“You’re finally back,” Snake said, “Found trouble?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Verity answered bravely.

She scrambled away to her makeshift bed in the corner. Del and Finnel fought over who had stolen what just beside her, while Whinny coolly counted the mountain of coins he’d stolen. Arlo glared daggers at her from his corner, shuffling a coin along his knuckles—like a river pebble being taken by a wave.

Verity clutched the coin purse to her chest, turned her back to the room—inside lay a red, red, red jewel, as vibrant as Arlo’s awful hair, as pretty and graceful as Whinny, glowing as cheerfully as the Lalafell twins. There was a clamor of attention as the rest of the rabble surrounded her. Giving her congratulations, mostly, while Arlo grumbled that it wasn’t _that great_.

She ate well that night, better than the rest of them. Still, in the throes of celebration, Verity couldn’t stop thinking about the lady in the black cloak—and her promise that she’d remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	10. Lush - Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lush: very rich and providing great sensory pleasure. (I also loosely used it in the terms of heavy drinking).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the absolutely irreplaceable Qara, who has commented on every one of my FFXIV fics, no matter how small or silly. I am SO GLAD you have come into my life with your endless positivity and support. Your love of my work has kept me going at times, and I can’t thank you enough. I LOVE YOU MORE THAN YOU KNOW!! Here’s some dorks in love with a bit of pining—and a little bit of spice. ;)

A flirty wink and the promise of wine had lured an unbearably human Hades into the rooms of his seductress, the Warrior of Light, at The Rising Stones. 

_We should celebrate your first adventure as a Scion!_

And lo, what an adventure it had been. A destitute farmer, needing—what? _Pine cones_? And they could be found— _where_? In the forest surrounded by bears and wolves and, by Zodiark, who knew what else.

They’d come out worse for wear and with just enough cones to satisfy the wretch. No gratitude. Just another sob story of how poor, how broken—

Hades rolled his eyes and sulked in front of a rather large bathtub. The water looked hot and inviting, yet he wasn’t allowed to get in—not until she returned. One of the twins had something she needed for the water. Mayhaps something lush, he hoped. Smelling of wild flowers and jasmine, of bubbly fruits or spices—anything but pine cones—and far more luxurious than plain water. For the sake of her Twelve, he hoped she had some class when it came to the finer things in life.

The door opened and he turned. There, she stood, his Azem, arms full of—

“And what exactly do you have there, pray tell? That certainly does not appear to be wine. You promised me wine.”

He sounded petulant, a prince among peasants. But inside, he was absolutely giddy instead.

“Alphinaud has some things I needed,” Verity shifted the goods in her arms and came forward. She could barely see over her haul. “Do you know what bath salts are? Bath bombs? Goodness. He almost had a whole store in there of all this stuff.”

Hades sneered—to hide his glee. “Bath what? Of everything I know—out of all the ancient secrets to which I am privy—you instead ask after bath bombs? Why would I know about bath bombs?”

Verity sent him a side-eye look, struggling to put her things down in an orderly fashion. “Seems like your thing. _Theatrical_.”

“How dare you,” Hades humphed, “I am _not_ theatrical.”

“Do you want bubbles?”

He lifted his chin up in defiance, then surrendered with a peripheral peek at her. “—and a bit of the salts, if you would. Oh, is that bath milk? That too. No, not that one—yes. Yes. _Good_.”

“Not that you know anything about this stuff,” Verity said, cheeky.

“Just put it in the water, please, my dear. With your prattle, it will be cold by the time you are done regaling me about how right you always are.”

“Mm.”

Verity obviously hadn’t heard a word he’d said, ignoring him to concentrate on her alchemical bath concoction. She dropped each unfamiliar thing experimentally into the water. The bomb fizzled into dazzling colors, and the milk turned the water frothy. A few bubbles— _more_ , he insisted—and the hot bath was fit for an Emperor. 

“Perhaps, he and I do have something in common after all. I see that the boy knows about the finer things in life,” Hades mused, peeling off his dirty clothes and throwing them aside until he was bare to her bedroom eyes, “Which is more than I can say about you. You are practically uncivilized.”

“I enjoy my baths, too. Just—not with all this stuff,” Verity huffed. She shooed him into the tub. “I pamper myself—or, try to, at least.”

“With a splash of water? A bit of soap between your legs for good measure?”

That earned him a hard swat on his backside, and he nearly chuckled. Getting a rise out of her always promised a bit of pain and punishment later—something he’d come to love more than bath products, indeed.

Without any more delay, he stepped into the large tub, sinking down, down. The soapy water gobbled him up, greedy and warm and—was that wild flowers? Blueberry? Hades inhaled deeply and hummed his approval. The hot water, the salts and milk—all of it was seeping into his sore muscles and washing away his woes.

“Darling,” Hades waved dismissively toward her, “My wine.”

“Yes, Your Radiance.”

He popped open one eye to scowl at her, but she’d turned away, tucking into a corner for a moment before coming back with a bottle. She corked it, took a whiff—notes of grapes tickled the air, and he practically salivated.

“Bacchus Wine—or, so I think. It’s rare, too rare, and the merchant... something about him. It’s probably not authentic,” Verity tasted it first and winced, “Definitely not authentic. See? Even Warriors of Light can be tricked and scammed.”

“Yes, well. This tub is large, indeed. But I hardly think it will fit the two of us, and your bruised tender ego,” Hades nipped, “Bring it here.”

“Or what?” she challenged.

He narrowed his eyes. “Do you truly want me to throw a hissy fit? Right here? In front of my frothy water?”

Verity let loose a noise of disgust and handed it over, with a choice few words under her breath. Amused, he snatched the wine from her and drank deep from the bottle’s mouth. It hit his senses just so, taking the razor-blade edge off his mood. A bit tipsy after another few pulls spread out between his breaths. Silence, a feel-good cloud over his mind—that was all he needed—

—to ask nonsensical questions.

“Do you despise it?” Hades asked suddenly. Verity’s interest perked with a ‘hm?’, “Having become a Warrior of Light? Serving these broken things? Farmers and their pine cones, as it were.”

“There are days when I absolutely do, yes,” Verity admitted quietly, like it were a secret, “But a farmer’s pine cone could easily instead be some poor heart-broken father and his kidnapped daughter. Or Eorzea and the latest primal. Everyone has their wants and needs, and their struggles—and sometimes, it’s easier to believe someone will come and rescue you someday.”

He pondered and chased a bubble with his fingers. “How poetic. Still,” the bubble popped with a flick, “I cannot say if it’s for me. There are far worse woes than pine cones.”

“Like your new humanity,” Verity whispered, easing down to sit on the stool behind him, “I’m sure you remember how it goes from your time as Emperor.”

“Is it not wholly different?” He snapped, clenching and unclenching his human hands, “I am all but useless without my— _abilities_. And humanity… it weighs differently now. Heavier, and a bit suffocating.”

“But you have me.” There was a tickle of fingers up the nape of his neck, and he shivered. “Plus, the rest of the Scions.”

Hades scoffed. “They would rather I still be in the Lifestream far away from here, dare I say.”

“Nonsense. All they talked about after you—“ Verity’s voice broke, and she recovered with the clearing of her throat, “Well, after _everything_ —that’s all they talked about. Mentioning you every time they could. I absolutely think they adore you. All of them.”

“I hardly think G’raha Tia would agree with you.”

“You also pick on him mercilessly,” Verity returned, snatching the bottle from him. She drank deep of it too, noisy and sloppy, before setting it aside altogether. “Try being nice to him once in a while.”

“No,” Hades simmered, scrunching down deeper into the water, “I absolutely do not think I will.”

He could almost hear the roll of her eyes, the slight change in her demeanor. Delicate fingers traced his collarbone, back and forth. An incredibly soft gesture, soothing—too touchy-feely. He knew what was coming.

“Even though your first adventure was—as some would think—reasonably silly, I am full glad you are here to begin with. When I lost you—“

“Enough of that, my dear. I am not so drunk that I wish to hear of how desperately incomplete you are without me. To wit, who would blame you otherwise? I am the epitome of perfection and charm.”

Verity chuckled, but there was no mirth in it. Only the vivid greens of mischief. She scooped up water with a deep-set bowl, then unceremoniously dumped it on his head. His grunt of displeasure, his gasp of scandal couldn’t have been more pleasing to her ears, he’d imagine. And he fixed her with a glare that could stun gods.

—but not her. She giggled instead and held her hands out in surrender. “I want to wash your hair. Relax. I’ll take care of you.”

“Hmph,” was his answer.

Her strong yet agile fingers quickly took advantage, sinking into his shorn hair without preamble. Massaging liquid soap—strawberry?—into his scalp before he could say otherwise. Thumbs dug into the sore flesh of his nape, then tracked upward to the back of his head. He could fall asleep just so, pampered and massaged and—Hades let out a quiet sigh despite himself. And if power were in smiles, hers was the sun. He couldn’t see it, no, but could sense it warming his insides and filling in the holes of his soul that his own Sundering had left behind. Far be it from him to make her stop.

It went on like that for a while. Her hands in his hair, massaging deep and relaxing. Then, she delicately rinsed his hair as if he were the finest thing in all of Eorzea. Went so far as to shield his eyes, even, before pouring warm water over his soapy hair. 

Her touch, her worship—it stirred something within him. She abandoned her duty, and the moment he was without her, he ached. His skin pined for her sweeter touches, the ones she kissed over his skin when she herself felt vulnerable and needy. A whisper of genuine affection over his lips, mayhaps. His mind ran away with it, imagining all the ways she might explore him anew.

He’d be surprised if she hadn’t read his mind. For when she returned, settled on her stool, her devilish fingers found him again. Soaped up and willing to serve. From behind, she spread her hands over his chest, her thumbs skirting his nipples. His body’s response was immediate, and she’d be amiss if she hadn’t noticed how hard he’d become. If she had, however, she didn’t make a move for it. Ignored it completely, to rub soap into his sore muscles—his arms, his chest, what she could reach of his stomach. Her fingers brushed the tip of his cock, and he splintered a soft groan. 

“Are you hungry for me, my love?”

“Yes,” was a fractured noise.

Her touch meandered across his body, taking inventory of all the new bumps and bruises he’d acquired. A deep scratch on his arm that stung with each nip of the water. Mottled bruises over his skin from only Zodiark knew where. Each and every nick and discoloration soothed with fingertips and mended with a kiss at his temple. One for the hairline fissure of a scar across his abdomen—two for the gash he’d earned a month ago. A stunning twenty tiny little kisses and nudges and affection for the scar on his chest—where she’d struck him with Ardbert’s axe. The fervor in them told him she’d never forgiven herself for ripping him asunder. Perhaps he’d never forgive her either, if she peppered him with adoration every single time she chanced to see it.

Her touch disappeared completely. A scooch of her stool. Now beside him, her touch renewed—a tease of fingers circling the tip of his hard length. In her eyes, a glint of mischief, her slight smile promising deviance. He thrilled with it, and excitement blitzed a path down his backbone. Whether it was the wine, the lush curve of her lips, the decadence of everything around him—he knew he’d fold to her ministrations easily.

So, she went slowly because, _of course_. Teasing her loop of fingers around the head, only to immediately release him. He watched her ignore his grunts of impatience with a soft smile. Her bedroom eyes watched him from her peripheral, gauging how hard to fuck him—or not at all. When he quieted, she curled her fingers around his shaft, giving it a squeeze and a half-hearted pump if she deigned necessary. He stirred with tension, his hips trembling with the anticipation of her faltering will. She wanted this as much as he did—and he could see it in her eyes.

Another grace of fingers, barely there. And with another groan, borne from the depths of his chest, her will snapped in half.

The way she grabbed him, just as hungry—

Hades arched his back, throat exposed to her mercy. She lunged for it like a lioness and bit down with as much force. One pump, two—and already, the space between them was too much. Like Leviathan himself, Hades surged from the water to grab her and pull her bodily into the tub with him. It was large enough to house both of them; her settled between his thighs, and their chests crushed together.

Their kiss was another messy sort of thing. Greedy and desperate, and everything impatience and need. 

He slipped a hand up her flimsy, wet shirt and thumbed a nipple. Her sultry moan was a delicious treat he devoured, kissing her like a starved man. In a whirl of wine-drunk, sex blissed haze, he fucked into her tight fist—over and over, harder, faster. She puffed grape-wine breaths over his face with each upward thrust of his hips, somehow drawing pleasure by not being touched at all. He gripped her breast more firmly, but was too far gone to tend to her needs. It was all _almost there_ , and _close.. close.. close…_

Her thumb danced circles over the head of him, and pressed into the slit once—he came with a strangled gasp, his sight alight with stars. A passionate, soft kiss bright him back down to this Star, and he gave to it with all his being. And Verity, his beautiful weary wanderer, smiled and melted against him.

Like this, huddled in each other’s arms, they whiled away the time and ignored the woes of the world—until the water grew cold and stale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	11. Avail - G'raha Tia/Warrior of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avail: help, use, or benefit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The newest Tales of the Shadows left me a bit devastated, and this was very therapeutic. 
> 
> This takes place in a setting that's closer to canon.
> 
>  **Warnings** for depression, self-harm, mentions of suicide, one-sided pining and abuse. Note: G'raha doesn't deserve this, but grief makes people do ugly things.

The door to her private rooms loomed before him, mocking his every step. 

G’raha Tia held the sunflowers he’d picked for her gingerly in his hands. He should turn back, he thought. Retreat like the coward he felt he was and never look over his shoulder otherwise. But something pulled him toward that gloom—and like a moth destined to die in flames, he went. His next intake of air was shallow. What if she heard him out here? Locked her doors? Or, worse, screamed and yelled at him? Would he flee? He hoped not.

He knocked and waited. No answer, as he expected. The Warrior of Light didn’t answer the door for Alisaie either, and she was by far Verity’s favorite—her best friend and confidant. Verity hadn’t spoken to her for weeks beyond a simple greeting, and that was strained at best.

Did he dare enter without her consent? Would she attack him?

He’d take a hundred cuts just to know she still breathed.

Slowly, he turned the knob and opened the door. Her room was bathed in a darkness he hadn’t known beyond the deepest dungeons. Moonlight streamed through the dirty windows, but even its pale luster couldn’t cut through the shadows that swarmed around her. There, in her favorite chair, beside the window, Verity sat as still as a statue. Beautiful, even from here, and he couldn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat. He only knew a fathomless love for her, yet she hated every breath he took. He could see it even now—oh, how his heart ached.

His footsteps fell softly on the hardwood floors, and immediately, as if struck by lightning, Verity straightened her spine. The turn of her head was slight, and her peripheral must’ve caught him. Her shoulders squared off like they did when she readied herself for an attack. Nostrils flared—the very scent of him must sicken her. She was too aware and too rigid; a broken-winged bird terrified of her captor. Except the only chains she wore were that of her own making. For wasn’t grief the most inescapable prison of them all?

“What do you want?” came her voice, cracked and thin.

He shifted his weight, then dared to look at her face. “I came t—“

“You know you shouldn’t be here. I don’t need looking after. Certainly not by _you_.”

G’raha licked his lips. “I apologize. I should—“

“Yes, leave. If you need to confirm I am still among the living, send Alisaie.”

He studied her figure kissed by moonlight. It pressed against the sheerness of her nightclothes, but that wasn’t why he watched her so. There had been… attempts, so he sought to catalog every scar on the strips of flesh he could see. Her arms—marred by the normalcy of battle, of being a Warrior of Light. Nothing new about her legs or her face, no indications of further self-harm on her thighs. When she tucked a thread of silver hair behind her ear— _there_. The scars along her wrists. Fresh as of three months ago, when they’d saved her from Zenos.

Had they saved her at all? Or, was a part of her with him still?

The prince had taken care of her, she’d said. Rescued her from ending her own life. And how had they repaid him? By stealing her away in the embrace of night.

Mayhaps, he still lurked in the shadows.

No—a greater threat lurked there. The reason her heart wept every day. Why G’raha heard her scream at night when the nightmares came for her.

“Why is it that only the good and pure of heart get the happily-ever-after’s, hm? By the Twelve, I wish it had been you instead, Raha. The villain. The sacrificed in all this. Not _him_.”

_Hades._

“And I would trade places with him quicker than the time between heartbeats—just to see you smile again,” G’raha returned softly, “Every moment of every waking day, I will endeavor to deserve a place beside you. This, I promise.”

Verity chuckled, and it was a dark thing. “Even if I forgive you for being alive and here when he’s not, you’ll never mean as much to me. Ever. Never will you be as good a friend or a lover, or even an acquaintance. You’ll forever live in his shadow. And you’ll suffocate and die there.”

“So be it. I still yet live. Not he,” G’raha cut, his voice a blade, “And if I am to suffer the ghost of another, I will do so on my terms. I may suffocate and die in his shadow, as you say and will it, but even flowers are known to survive even the harshest of conditions.”

“You are no flower,” Verity hissed, “But a thorn. A despicable thing that digs into my flesh every hour of every day—and I hate you. So, leave me be. I want to mourn in peace.”

His ears wilted. 

She hated him, yes, but he’d take it over indifference. For in indifference, was there not still hope?

It was with this shred of hope that he stepped forward. His Warrior of Light stiffened further, but didn’t make a move to flee. She sat there, ever ready, poised and guarded. He came as close as he dared, then lay a bouquet of sunflowers in the seat she kept empty—for Hades. On the windowsill, nearby, the orange crystal he’d left her.

“I am… forever sorry for your loss.”

His kindness did nothing to avail her of her heartache. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she turned away. Jawline stern yet trembling.

He left her there in the darkness. Through the door, he could hear her crying softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	12. Ultracrepidarian - G'raha Tia/Warrior of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ultracrepidarian: _noting or pertaining to a person who criticizes, judges, or gives advice outside the area of his or her expertise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fallout from the Tales from the Shadows short story.
> 
> This takes place in a setting that's closer to canon.
> 
>  **Warnings** for depression, one-sided pining and abuse. Note: G'raha doesn't deserve this, but grief and love make people do ugly things.

Ages ago, she was once told to deliver a message to the Crystal Exarch by a dying man. 

_Don't give up. Don't give in._

Rather ultracrepidarian advice given their current circumstances.

Because, ultimately, the man in her bed had done the exact opposite.

He'd given up and given in.

Consensual in despair. That’s what they called it.

Verity stared out the window, watching each raindrop merge into another and fall like tears down glass. Here, in her room, on her bed, G’raha Tia spread his hands over her hips. Whispering sweet nothings in her ear like this was more than just a quick meaningless fuck. His breath quickened over her skin, and it felt like a thick fog rolling in, suffocating her with its heat. His fingers, always gentle, always patient, sought to spread her folds—and she let him. Her body wouldn’t give way to him, not yet, and she exuded the faintest sigh—not out of lust or pleasure, but because she simply needed to draw breath. 

Her mind was elsewhere, in fields of green and purple, picking grapes with her long-departed beloved.

Yearning.

Here, under the soft sheets, the two of them—they weren’t here for love. He knew that, too. Oh, he loved her. He did. He vowed to live every day to deserve a place beside her, hadn’t he? Hadn’t she hated him once, too? She couldn’t remember. Nothing made sense in the darkest ocean of her grief. An endless void as far as the eye could see—and if she did hate him, or had hated him once, nothing was left but indifference.

Indifferent to the way he kissed her neck, his soft lips nudging life into her pulse point. His touches met with the apathy of listlessness as she lay there, counting the raindrops on the ivy leaves. When he slipped his careful, reverent fingers into her cunt, she shifted bodily, impassive to the hardness she felt pressing into her thigh. He was hungry for her, but she had no desire to feast on his adoration or love. He’d take what he could get, she knew—these allowances of her pity. These petty morsels of detached coupling. 

For he’d never truly eclipse the love she’d had for _him_. G’raha wasn’t enough, would never be, and he’d accepted that long ago, with the grace of a deity. Better this than nothing, he’d said once. _Better your hatred than indifference._ She chuckled despite herself, a mirthless thing, and his ears wiggled with hope. His fingers became more eager to please, softer over her clit, while his mouth found a nipple. Would she come for him this time?

The thought of it sparked an ember of _something_ within her. Anger, she thought, a low burning in the pit of her gut. A stringing together of thoughts outside herself, out of this space and moment. A vehemence sparked anew. That hatred she’d once had for him—it blossomed and spread throughout her nerves, knitting into her skin. Yes, she remembered now. She’d hated him for living, breathing, when her beloved couldn’t. 

And as he pushed into her sweetly, as her body flowered for him, she made a silent vow. To twist his love for her into an ugly thing; to drag him so deep under her raging currents that he drowned. Hurt him, destroy him, and ensure he peppered his gratitude like kisses at her feet. For her grief was a terrible destructive thing.

He came inside her like he always did, and her body trembled with impending release. Greed and spite made her chase after it, and she let it wash over her in a wave of something other than despair. A noise bubbled up from her throat, a caged wretched moan now free—and she was met with greed and hope. G’raha Tia stole a chance at her lips, kissing her with a passion he’d held secret for years. It didn’t move her like it should have, didn’t make her heart flutter or stomach tighten. All she knew was an eternal ache.

She broke their kiss when she turned over on her side, to recount the raindrops on petals. His slick dribbled down her thighs, but she didn’t care. And as he lay next to her, not touching her for fear of earning her ire, she lay there too—watching the day’s light bleed into darkness. Oh, how the stars shone bright.

He had so loved the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	13. Tooth and Nail - Gaius Baelsar/Estinien Wyrmblood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooth and Nail: _engage in vigorous combat or make a strenuous effort, using all one's resources._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick something for today!

It’d been after their escape from Garlemald. They made camp, tucked away from patrols and peering eyes. That was when it struck—this imperceptible need. It itched under his skin, and he fought tooth and nail to deny it. Ultimately, he failed in the end. It was the only influence he’d ever caved to—and Gaius. Well. He’d been there and _willing_.

Necessity striped them down to the basics. Gaius slicked his arse with the oil they had, and without the frivolity of foreplay. No kissing. No touching. Nothing beyond the simplicity of grabbing his hips, angling just so, and skewering him. The power behind his first thrust had stolen his breath away. And now, in the throes of their fucking, the heat had built, and it was undeniable in its power. 

Estinien grunted as Gaius’ pulled back and drove home once again. It jolted his body forward, and pebbles scrapped his face. On all fours like this—it was the only way he would’ve allowed it. Even Aymeric, in all the complexities of their relationship, couldn’t persuade him otherwise. Facing those he fucked—that would mean feelings. And he didn’t have them.

Especially not for this.

Not for the way every ilm of Gaius filled him just right. His cock was an adequate size to get the job done. And it hit all the right places. Estinien spread his thighs a little farther apart—to give him more access. And Gaius, the greedy bastard, took all of him. Over and over again. The sound of their sex spoiling the air. That slap of flesh on flesh. Suddenly, it was harder to breathe. Each inhale unable to fully expand his lungs—it was laborious, growing thinner as the heat burned brighter and hotter. 

Then, Gaius took a risk. Laying a hand on his head—to hold him down or gain leverage, he didn’t know. 

“Get your swiving hand off me.”

That earned him a devastating snap of Gaius’ hips. And his cock speared him anew. Harder this time. Faster the next. Until all he knew or could think about was how good it felt. Gaius’ fingers bit into his hips. And he would find bruises there in the morning. Little crescents of evidence betraying that they’d had this one moment of weakness.

One or two pulls—that was all it would take. Without ceremony, Estinien grabbed his cock. He gave it a pump of dirty calloused fingers. And the thread of a noise—another grunt—escaped his lips. Another one, and he was gone. Coming over his hand while, behind him, Gaius followed suit.

No touches or feelings spared when they separated. Just the silent acknowledgment that each of them had fulfilled their selfish needs.

“Other business takes me elsewhere by the light of morning,” Gaius said, pulling up his trousers, “Another threat looms.”

“Just as well. So do I,” Estinien replied, “What threat?”

“There’s something of import missing at the Capitol. A device. I have reason to believe the Empire is planning something.”

That was all they said. By morning, Gaius Baelsar was gone. And Estinien made his way to The Rising Stones—to find the Warrior of Light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	14. Light | Dark - Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For FFXIV Write, today is an extra credit day, so I've decided to do the Light | Dark prompt for EmetWoL week.

He woke up before she did, as the Everlasting Light peeked into the windows and lashed against his exposed skin. He didn’t mind so much, did he? Not when he was this close to her, watching her sleep. She stirred in his arms. Her eyes fluttered beneath her eyelids with dreams. This time, though, they weren’t nightmares, he could tell. She didn’t thrash in her sleep as horrid images cut at her, as bloodied screams tore her asunder. No, these were pleasant. Her plush lips trembled, then she smiled—who was with her in her dreams? 

He hoped it was him. 

At last, her eyes opened, shining like quicksilver. He thought she might retreat from him, realizing how wrong it was to awake in the arms of her adversary, but she didn’t. She smiled more, and the light of it nearly brought him to tears. Despite her current condition, all he could feel from her aether was happiness.

Even when she was dying.

The Warden’s Light feasted on her marrow, and when he brushed her cheek, he could feel its violence shutter under her skin. Like a monster beneath a glass lake, it surfaced just long enough to snap at him. It felt like he’d been taken to a blade over a single touch.

Kissing her would be devastating.

But then, he’d always liked danger.

He pressed his lips to hers, and she replied with delicacy—and fire. Her Light seared against his mouth, but he pressed on, giving her all of his passion. She licked the seam of his lips for more, and he obliged, rolling his tongue along hers. The pain was _exquisite_.

But even he, an Ascian, needed respite.

He broke away, if for but a moment, and brushed his thumbs along the ladder of her ribs. The Light threw itself at his darkness, drilling holes, puncturing his very soul. He would’ve gasped if he hadn’t lain with her before this. The shock and violence of her Light was known to him now—and all he uttered was her name.

Her groan was radiant, her insistence that he lay with her again almost blinding. She spread her thighs for him, and like a man destined to die, he pushed into her with a fractured breath. Her Light pierced his veil, and in his darkness, flowers blossomed—and agony flourished.

Let him die in her Light, then.

There would be no greater end than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	15. Part - Hades & G'raha Tia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part: an amount or section which, when combined with others, makes up the whole of something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some good 'ol bickering.

Laughter. Stories. Drinks.

Blessed night had approached Mor Dhona, and the inhabitants inside The Rising Stones were strangely—annoyingly—abustle. Hades reread the selfsame sentence in his book for the third time. And _again_ , G’raha Tia laughed uproariously to one of Alphinaud’s asides, as if he were doing all of this on purpose. Hades shot him yet another silencing look, and that, too, went entirely ignored. He huffed aloud and settled in again, and that was precisely when one of the side doors opened.

In came Verity in all her radiance, her plush lips set to knowing, her bedclothes—

Hades cut a glare to G’raha, whom—because _of course he had_ —noticed Verity’s entry and her rather scanty choice of sleepwear. His ears flickered in interest, his tail twitching almost erratically. G’raha smiled, just at the corner of his mouth, poised to say something insufferably charming. 

Verity usually laughed at his quips, but not today. 

He ended the charade with a quick snap. No power behind it, alas. But the abrupt sound cut off G’raha Tia’s attention and soured his mood immediately. He’d grown to hate snapping. Just so.

“I’m going to bed soon,” Verity said, oblivious to the two of them, “Will you braid my hair?”

His face scrunched up. Braid hair? His eyes tracked along the lengths of her silken hair, pale against her exposed back. He thought to deny her outright, but knew immediately—after her cheeky smile over her shoulder—that this had been carefully planned. In private, he would have turned her away. Yet, here, in front of G’raha Tia—

“’Twould be my pleasure, dearest. Long have I dreamt of being in service of my one true love,” his sarcasm couldn’t have been more venomous, and he leaned forward, tugging hard on a strand of hair, “Let it be known that I will ruin you when next we are alone...”

Verity shuddered, and it wasn’t out of fear. 

“Excited am I to learn how the architect of empires had time to learn how to braid hair. You must have had eons of practice, and your braids? Extraordinary. True works of art.”

The sound of G’raha’s cheerful voice grated his ears. Hades shot him a chilling look. “Much to your particular dismay, I have, in fact, braided hair a good many times. Prepare to be awed.”

With his newfound humanity came the ability to lie. No longer was he the Angel of Truth, as it were, but a sly, charismatic lai—

“I celebrate your continued practice of lying, dear Hades, but I am afraid you have a longer way to go before they are actually believable,” G’raha offered helpfully.

“Ah, yes. I count myself among the lucky few who can learn how to lie with such grace, poise—such deftness—from the vaunted Scholar of Lies himself. I pray, with the whole of my heart that, one day too, mine will be so destructive.”

Somewhere, Alisaie thunked her head on the table. “Oh, by the gods...”

“Would you two—“ Verity huffed, “—please save your bickering for later? I am overtired.”

“Fine,” Hades snipped.

“My apologies, Verity. Mayhap I should braid your hair. Simply a few moments of your time would be all it would take. Quite quicker than—“

“No,” Hades cut in, “I have it.”

Did he? He stared at her hair like it were the greatest puzzle in the world. He’d built empires. He would not be confounded by braiding hair. There were parts to it, he knew. Two? Or was it three? 

Verity shifted her weight from one foot to another. A tale-tell sign that impatience riddled her bones. He raked his fingers gently through her hair while he thought, and it calmed her to a stillness he hadn’t known in her in months. A bit of knowledge he tucked away for later.

But the time was nigh. Hades parted her hair in twain and—

G’raha Tia cleared his throat. “If I may—“

“You may not.”

“—if I am not mistaken, you will need not two parts, but three for a braid. But you must have known that, as much as you know about braiding hair.”

“Do you mind?” Hades cut out.

“Oh, not at all. Of course, I will take over. How kind of you to think of Verity’s condition.”

Both Verity and Alisaie sighed brutally.

Hades held out an arm, barring G’raha from coming any closer. Yet, he was still too close. Enough to lean over and inspect the two parts he’d carved out of her hair.

“Three equal parts,” G’raha corrected. The smile he gave him was cocked to one side, and his ears flicked. Absolutely charming.

Hades frowned against the onslaught, turning a glare to silken tresses, as if they themselves had conspired to bring him here, right in the middle of this hell.

“And so—“ G’raha continued.

He stopped listening, too consumed by how close he was. Not only to Verity, closing the distance with every word—but how much closer he was inching to _him_. A ribbon of jasmine tickled his nose, an undercurrent of something deeper, darker. It drew him in, curling around his senses. A dulcet note of cinnamon, sugar. Like a mug of aromatic tea on a sun-kissed day, just on the brink of winter. Cozy, comforting—intoxicating.

Dangerous.

“Allow me.”

 _Infuriating_ —because the next thing he knew, G’raha Tia had wedged himself between he and Verity. Taking over with a vengeance. He’d begun and was finished quicker than his eyes could follow. And with a gentle squeeze of her shoulders, he said, “And there you have it. A braid truly fit for the Warrior of Light.”

It was tight and perfect. Expertly woven as if he’d truly done this a hundred times before this. Verity was just as charmed. She ran a hand down the braid, then, she beamed a smile to G’raha. Wide and brilliant—smiles she reserved solely for _him_ and _him alone_.

“I love it, Raha,” she said, the tone of her voice too lovely.

G’raha and his ears—Hades narrowed his eyes as G’raha smiled warmly, a flush blossoming on his cheeks. His ears gave him away again, with a bashful little wiggle. 

Adorable. _Annoying_.

“When Lyna was a little girl, she adored having her hair braided. Not a single night went by unless—ah, well, stories for another time, indeed. You must rest.”

“Indeed, she must—with me,” Hades dug in.

“Ugh. I’m going to bed,” Alisaie groused.

“—but we are not yet done here.” With the flick of his wrist, he pulled the tie, and the braid—its beauty, its perfection—unraveled. 

Verity sent a glare over her shoulder, but he barely saw it. Too engrossed in his own creation, weaving three equal parts of hair within one another, until—

A loose and fraying braid lay down the elegant line of her backbone. By the looks of it, it wouldn’t last long. Not at all. But it wasn’t G’raha’s mess. It was _his_.

“It’s—“ G’raha Tia began.

“Adequate. Besides,” Hades clamped a hand on her shoulder, thumb tracing a line up her neck. Promising. “No braid—however perfect, mind you—will not survive what I am about to do to her.”

His smile was cheeky. G’raha frowned, ears flat on his head. No smile, no ear wiggle. Just perfect.

He ruined her thrice that night, and for the next moon, he devoted himself to the study of braids, just so he could weave them quicker, better, prettier than G’raha Tia. And to this day, he and Jandelaine kept their selfsame Firesday tea time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	16. Ache - Alisaie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ache: a continuous or prolonged dull pain in a part of one's body.

When Tesleen had died, a part of her died too. Tears fell from her eyes unbidden, and the ache inside her chest had hurt so much, it felt as if her soul had been torn from her.

But this ache—it was worse. Far more worse.

Alisaie leapt to the side as claws, long and hideous, tried to take a piece of her. She let her tears tumble down her cheeks freely, but kept moving. She turned away from another attack, and bit back with the tip of her rapier. 

The monster screamed. Human enough to widen the chasm inside her heart. Monster enough to know she had to do what must be done.

It came at her again, with the fury it had known in another life. This Warden hadn’t always been just so. It had friends once, a life filled with adventure. But its hundreds of black eyes didn’t reflect that. It didn’t know who she was when it should have.

A wicked tail, barbed and sharp, angled for her, stabbing the ground where Alisaie had been. Again, and again, as she flipped away from it. Its defenses were open, and she struck with a vengeance.

_Why did you go alone? Why didn’t you take me with you?_

It had laid waste to Lakeland first. Killing thousands in the Crystarium. None of the defenses had worked against its onslaught. It knew all of their tricks and upended their plans time and time again. The Crystal Exarch refused to fight it, tried endlessly to save it instead. He burned with the rest of them.

Alisaie bounced away, casting spell after spell, lunging in and slashing too many times to count. She screamed with the effort, her throat hoarse, sore. 

She remembered how Alphinaud had fallen. Thancred. Y’shtola. Ryne. She remembered how Urianger sacrificed himself to save the others. The look on Lyna’s face when they found the Crystal Exarch. How she’d sworn right then to protect the Crystarium, no matter what.

How Lyna, too, had fallen and drawn in her last breath.

How thousands had been cut down by those selfsame claws—the hands that used to help them.

Her eyes had been silver once. Her hair a glimmering white. Her smile wide and forgiving. Her laugh—

Too quickly for her to see, the Warden struck true, ramming a sharpened tail tip through her chest. Alisaie gasped and staggered back. Her fingers came back bloody, and her cough drudged up more blood.

The hole in her chest—was nothing compared to the ache in her soul.

Alisaie slumped down and drew another labored breath. She looked up into the Warden’s many eyes... and smiled.

“I knew… you once… the real you,” she whispered, “My best friend... Verity... I—I will always love… you... I forgive you...”

All she knew was that ache when darkness finally devoured her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	17. Lucubration - Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucubration: [often pl.] any literary composition; writing or study.

Another dull evening at The Rising Stones without threat or malice. Her smattering of friends had grown restless. Hades could hear it in Alisaie’s particular way of whining, and in the way Thancred shifted his weight from foot to foot. Verity had taken up knitting of all things and was working on a decidedly ugly autumn scarf. For him nonetheless. He’d have to feign his adoration of it, practice his lying—all of it too exhausting to think about. Humanity was a draining thing.

Blasted eikons. Never here when they were truly needed.

Alphinaud all but stumbled in suddenly through the entrance, waving a paper. A small bundle of parchments tucked beneath his arm. “Something has come.”

The Scion roused, each perking up at the first sign of potential excitement in weeks. A barrage of comments and questions all at once, a few precise and clear.

“Alphinaud. Is it ill tidings?” Y’shtola was the first to ask.

“Perhaps, we shall have a bit of adventure soon enough!” G’raha exclaimed.

“Ugh. I hope you’re right. There’s been nothing to do for weeks,” Alisaie whined.

“Well, let us get on with it,” Thancred cut in with some intelligence, “Who is it from?”

Alphinaud flipped the paper over and studied it. “It was sent... anonymously through courier.”

“From where?” came another question.

Hades looked up from his book, sneering at the commotion. “By your gods, would you just read it?”

Alphinaud nodded and fumbled with the parchments. His eyes scanned them quickly, mouth open to read it aloud. After a moment, his face blossomed into a shade of rose and his jaws snapped shut. Even his ears had a flush to them.

“Dearest Alphinaud, one might assume you had just seen a bare ankle,” Hades noted, “What could be contained in those pages to render you so... pink?”

“It is—uh, and by that, I mean...”

“Out with it, boy,” Thancred groused.

“Verity. It is—about Verity,” Alphinaud swallowed, flushing more, “She is, uh. How to phrase this delicately,” he continued with a mirthless nervous little laugh, “Verity is—compromised in these pages.”

Hades narrowed his eyes while questions popped out of the Scions like little bubbles. “Oh, enough of this nonsense. Bring it here. With haste.”

Alphinaud rushed toward him, abandoning the pages on the table with a flurry as if it had been a monster that bit him. Without ceremony, Hades snatched them up—then angled them away from a nosy Verity, and a particularly interested G’raha Tia.

“If it’s about me, I want to see it,” Verity said, her nose in an adorable crinkle.

“Be patient,” Hades chided, then made a quick study of the pages.

_His hands, though calloused and worked to the bone, were impeccably soft on her bosom, and Verity felt a thrill through her—_

“Oh, just read it out loud! It can’t possibly be any worse than this godsforsaken boredom,” Alisaie hissed.

Hades cleared his throat, and with a wicked little smile— “ _Verity Inverness, Warrior of Light, groaned under his ministrations. His mouth like velvet over her own. And oh, how blessed she was, indeed, to be in the bed of the vaunted, heroic Nero Scaeva_ —him again? The selfsame engineer that—?”

Verity kept her mouth closed when Hades looked at her, then acquiesced with a little shrug. “He does have a particular way of popping up, uninvited or not.”

“Mm, yes. Speaking of popping up—“ Hades grumbled but continued, “ _She fell mightily to the girth of his—_ what? Even his cock is legendary?”

He looked at her again. She was staring off, dazed, nodding her head slowly, as if remembering the details of their coupling. When she snapped to, she answered his glare with a mouthing of silent words: “ _You_ liked it.”

The strap-on. A gift from the selfsame engineer. Molded after one legendary cock. He had, in fact, liked it. Very much.

“If I may,” Alphinaud squeaked, “Perhaps it is best if this is read aloud—elsewhere.”

“Oh, I think it's best if Hades continued right here,” Alisaie countered gleefully.

“I quite second that notion.” Thancred chanced a look at Urianger and Y’shtola, both of whom frowned their disagreement. 

Hades angled his neck and caught sight of G’raha. His tail swished to and fro with anticipation, ears flicking of their own accord. Their gazes finally met. Both narrowed their eyes.

“While I would adore embarrassing Verity further—“ Hades began.

“I am not embarrassed,” she piped in.

“—I do not think that this material is suited for certain audiences.”

“How nice if you to think of the children, Hades,” Y’shtola said, a bit sarcastically.

“Not them,” Hades nipped back, then glowered at G’raha Tia. His adversary sneered right back at him. “Besides, these... lucubrations are rather boring. Any fool could write this—and they are best re-enacted in the bedroom. With creative interpretations, of course.”

G’raha seethed.

“Come, my dear. Let us retire,” Hades reached out for her, and she surprisingly took his hand.

“But I want to know how it ends!” came Alisaie’s voice from behind them.

“When I next get the chance,” Thancred promised, “I will snatch it unawares. Surely, I was not a thief for years for nothing, hm?”

They shut the door on them. Alone, in her suites, Hades crowded her at the door, slapping the rolled up parchment near her head. “Tell me. What is it with you and this engineer?”

Verity smiled, a crooked devious little thing. “Like I said, he and I had a tryst.”

“While you are allowed your continued trysts, and I mine,” he continued, “I quite wonder—“

“If you propose that I would leave you for him, for any reason, I think I would call you insane.”

“—what it would be like to meet him myself,” Hades crooned, which earned him a swat on the arm. “Do you think he wrote this filth?”

“Possibly. It is in favor of his legendary cock. Maybe one of his admirers from Rhalgr's Reach wrote it. Perhaps, and more plausibly, you wrote it,” Verity returned coolly.

“Me? I hardly doubt that. My work would be hailed as a stroke of utter literary genius. This is trash.”

With a flutter, the parchments fell from his hands, leaving nothing between them except dark intentions.

“Your tryst with this Nero,” Hades whispered, “Tell me how it went.”

“Well, it started not unlike this. I was against a door. He kissed me—“

“—like this?”

Hades cupped her face and pressed their lips together, soft and sweet—a gentleness that meant to claim her in every way. She responded to his affections with that of her own, slipping her tongue into his mouth without way of permission or here-say. It lasted all too briefly. They broke apart, trading strained breaths like forbidden secrets. He touched her forehead with his, kissed her nose. She smiled sweetly, and her lashes fluttered her cheekbones like lost butterflies.

“Nero—he,” Verity licked her lips and looked into his eyes, “He’s not a gentle man.”

“Is that so?”

This time, Hades traced a thumb along her collarbone, predatory in its stalking of her pulse point. His fingers flared over her throat and he squeezed just a little bit, before the bite of his kiss overpowered her. He pinched her bottom lip between his teeth and supped on it, before kissing her again. Harder, more forceful when she moaned.

She broke their contact and whispered, “He fucked me against the door—“ And when he moved to unbutton her blouse— “My clothes were still on.”

“It is becoming more and more clear, with each passing second, why you like this engineer so much,” Hades said, “He is your type. Rough, pushy—and if his prose is anything to go by—predictably pretentious.”

“He would think you’re sweet on him by how you’ve described him. Be careful. He can get under your skin.”

“Oh, how I wish he would,” was all he said.

It happened efficiently, as an engineer might. No frills. She was up against the door before she could blink. Instinctively, her legs wrapped around him, while he simply yanked her smalls to one side and pushed into her without resistance. She was wet and ready for him, and he took her with abandon, spearing her harder with every jolt of his hips. Rougher, as he imagined this Nero might fuck her. No tenderness. 

He angled his hips back just so to deliver a body-jerking thrust. She hit her head on the door, yet groaned with it all the same. More precisely like that, taking her apart with every inch of his cock. Her body squeezed around him, and already, she was close. The puffs of air in his ear, her quiet little noises of absolute surrender—clues that told him, within moments, she’d find her own climax. Were they both thinking of this engineer, he wondered. His thoughts split into fragments; half of him listening to her, reveling in the way she gave everything to him. The other half wondering how this Nero might handle _him_. 

And as soon as it had begun, it was over. 

Verity adjusted herself once he set her down and let her go. He picked up the scattered parchments while, behind him, she sighed. “What will you do with them?”

He flashed her a smile. “Keep them. For research.”

“Ugh. I’m going to bed.”

There, by candlelight, his lucubration of the parchments accompanied him into the wee hours of the morning. And by the end of the third reading, Hades came to one singular conclusion.

He quite liked this Nero Scaeva.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	18. Fade - Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fade: gradually grow faint and disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short today because I could only thing of heavy angst. I didn't want to be in this particular headspace for too long. I'm still super sensitive over Emet and Amaurot.
> 
> (Note: thank you celestial_txt for reminding me to tag for the following thing: )
> 
>  **Warning** : cancer.

Every year, on the eve of his death, she went to Amaurot to mourn.

In the first year, it was as she had left it. A city brimming with shades, figments of his imagination who still spoke to her as if she were a child, but, at least, they still spoke. In the second year, they didn’t. The eerie silence over the city was her first clue that Amaurot was fading. And that, one day, Amaurot wouldn’t exist at all.

In the third year, the shades had begun to fade too, one by one. Some still played through their loop as if nothing had happened, before they, too, faded way into nothingness. The desolate city reminded her of his death, the fact that he was still gone. Over time, it would harder to visit. She had to press on.

By the fourth year, when they had lost Thancred, Amaurot lost most of its colors. The beautiful blues melted into steely lifeless grays, and the slight breeze went stale. It made her ache. Not only for her lost beloved, but for Thancred, too. She left a flower for him in one of the only spots that still had color. 

That fifth year, she and her Scion friends averted yet another calamity. She should’ve been happy that year when she visited Amaurot, but the city was naught more than rotting buildings. His magic had all but faded. It made her feel… incredibly weak, somehow. Tired. Mayhap it was simply the fight with Zenos that left her overtaxed. Just another thing to overcome, then.

The last year she visited, the sixth, she didn’t visit Amaurot alone. She walked the crumbling streets hand-in-hand with her beloved, Hades, and they smiled, remembering their friends from eons past. He’d told her that she’d died of cancer, but she didn’t care. She was happy now and in his arms. They ventured to the highest building in Amaurot and sat together, to watch the sun set. They held hands, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

And as the sunlight faded from the sky, they did, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	19. Panglossian - Hades & Azem & Hythlodaeus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panglossian: excessively optimistic (pangloss: a person who is optimistic regardless of the circumstances.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in a timeline before any of them were in the Convocation, and before my other stories of the same vein. 
> 
> Implied Hythlodaeus pining over Hades, as usual. Hades is oblivious.

With arms crossed, Hades looked over his new apartment with a cursory glance. Everything was as it should be: neat and orderly, with everything in its rightful place and positioned how he always imagined it’d be. He had his rosewood bookshelves, his desk, and tiered glass shelves overlooking his grand living room, which lay open and inviting with its new couch and polished coffee table. All he needed to do now was fill everything to its brim. An infamous collection of books by his favorite authors. Exciting new knickknacks and baubles. All in due time, of course. Now was the time for relaxing, for strutting proud through his space that was his and his alone. He straightened the pen on his new desk just so, because he could. Then, he took a satisfying breath. 

And that was when all hells broke loose.

Without warning, Azem burst through his apartment door, all aflutter. She tipped over an umbrella stand in her haste, and his eyes darkened with storms. No longer were things so neat and orderly. He barely noticed that her silver eyes were wide, and her mouth poised. But when she said, “By Lahabrea’s pompous arse,” Hades snapped to and focused all his attention on her. For that code—his own choosing, of course—meant their dearest friend Hythlodaeus was quick on her heels. Not usually important, but today it was. They had a plan.

As was his wont, Hythlodaeus breezed in, then stopped dead in his tracks. He took in the wonder of Hades apartment, piece by piece. The coffee table, the soft rugs, the curtains. The order of it all, the perfection of it—then, he slipped his eyes to the overturned umbrella stand. Hythlodaeus canted his head to the side, winked, and said, “Dearest Hades. Are you ill? I did not expect your new home to be so… messy.”

The sarcasm dampened his already stormy expression. Hades narrowed his eyes and said, “Nor did I expect my dearest friends to tear the place asunder within two seconds of arriving.”

As if in sudden realization, Azem startled and rearranged the stand in precisely the way it’d been before catastrophe. A moment of distraction, nothing more, and she was back to fretting. Shifting her weight from one foot to another. He, too, could barely hold himself in check. The anticipation of it all—

Of course, Hythlodaeus noticed. His brilliant blue eyes flicked to each of them in turn, and his lips quirked sideways into a sly smile. “Dearest friends. I can smell mischief a full malm away—and see it in your souls, lest you forget. What are you two planning?”

“Us?” Azem quipped, “Nothing. What would we be planning?”

Hades watched the two of them, and in turn, they warily watched him, then each other. At length, after accusatory stares and hesitation, he rolled his eyes. “Azem and I have noticed your lack of—“

“Hades, please,” Azem whispered.

“—willingness, as it were, to create as of late,” he concluded, “So, it was her plan that the two of us step in. Right what is wrong, if we can. I assure you that whatever is the matter, we can figure it out. Together.”

Hythlodaeus pursed his lips, then with a flourish, flounced on the new couch, a crumple of robes and defeat. He removed his mask and fanned fingers across his face. Never before had Hades seen his dear friend so… dramatic.

“It is true. I am having difficulties. As to what is the matter—“ Hythlodaeus fiddled with his mask, tracing a line over its face, “I simply lack inspiration. I see a great many concepts by Lahabrea—“

“They are hardly great,” Hades interjected.

“—and fantastic ideas by you yourself, Azem. And when dear Hades deigns to create a concept anew, when he is not at all lazy or fettered by his own ego—“

“I am _right here_ , Hythlodaeus.”

“—he, too, creates such… awe-inspiring greatness. Yet I, with my simple mind, cannot seem to create a thing these days,” Hythlodaeus tossed the mask on the coffee table, “I am at my wits end.”

“I am sure there is something we can do, dear friend,” Azem piped in, “We always figure things out—the three of us. Is that not right, dearest Hades?”

“Indeed,” he offered simply.

Azem joined Hythlodaeus on his new couch, moving a perfectly positioned pillow out of its position. Hades narrowed his eyes and gravitated to the mess, tossing Hythlodaeus his mask just to get it off his new polished coffee table. Naturally, Hythlodaeus took his fussing in stride, mind fixated on his lack of creativity, possibly. Then, his soul flickered with mischief, green as an emerald.

“Tea and biscuits, if you would, dear Hades. I simply cannot think while I am famished.”

Hades passed Hythlodaeus a look, and Hythlodaeus—ever charming, ever convincing—flashed him a darling smile. Even going so far as to flutter his eyelashes. With shoulders hunched and mood set to brood, Hades ended up in his new kitchen before he could think, boiling water for tea and setting out plates for biscuits. 

That was when he heard their hushed voices.

“You said it was an emergency, dear Azem,” Hythlodaeus uncharacteristically hissed, “It was but a ruse to get me _here_ of all places. This is the last place I need to be.”

“I simply thought being in his presence might inspire you anew, dear Hythlodaeus. Does he not inspire you?”

“You, of all in Amaurot, know he does. Too much.”

“Then?” Azem countered, “You should be able to create—”

Hades broke up the peculiar exchange by his presence, plopping down a tea pot and cups for the three of them. Napkins and biscuits, too. The trio fell upon the offering like starved beasts, and the pall of awkwardness deepened still. Hades ignored its itch and took the opportunity to study Hythlodaeus instead. A pale rose blossomed throughout his soul. An odd color on him, as it were, for it meant—

“What could we have him create for us, dear Hades? Something small, perhaps,” said Azem.

“—that already exists. I cannot simply wrap my head around creating a new concept. Not just yet.”

Hades nodded, sipped his tea, and said, “My shelves are quite bare. Perhaps a knickknack.”

“Oh, a fine idea. Which shape?” Azem asked.

“Hm. I think that would be best left to our illustrious creator to decide,” Hades concluded, “The first thing that comes to your mind. Let me remind you that when creating, it is best to get out of your own way. Let… whatever it is you fancy lead the way.”

Hythlodaeus stared at him, then gingerly, put his tea cup down. His dear friend cracked his knuckles, took a deep breath and fanned his fingers outward. The charge in the air shifted, and from his extended hand, a glob of clear glass formed. They watched it bubble and shape, expand slightly, glow eerily—then, when Hades chanced a glance at Hythlodaeus and gave him an encouraging smile—it immediately snapped into the form of—

“It’s beautiful,” Azem whispered.

She beheld it in her hands. A glass heart-shaped knickknack, glowing with that selfsame rose hue. That was it, then. Hythlodaeus was in love—

“Can I keep it?”

—with Azem. 

“You may,” Hades said quickly before Hythlodaeus could open his mouth.

Azem tucked it away in her robes and beamed their dear friend with a bright smile. “See? You can create. I knew it!”

A bit strangely downtrodden, Hythlodaeus sighed. “Yes, but that was a pre-existing concept. One could say it was a fairly easy one, at that. But a new concept altogether?”

“I am not sure I recognize this unusually glum Hythlodaeus,” Hades said, sipping his tea, “I occupy the pessimistic role in our group, yet today, I feel… strangely optimistic.”

“A true pangloss,” Hythlodaeus said, “I must admit, I am quite terrified of this turn of events.”

“As am I. We are truly in flux, my dear friend, and we must right things before it is too late,” Hades finished dramatically, “Optimism is quite draining.”

The trio shared a little chuckle. It lightened their mood, and finally, Hythlodaeus was smiling. That flash of green sparked along the edges of his soul, and Hades was glad for it. He took the opportunity to sit beside his friend and lay a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Create something for us, dear Hythlodaeus.”

Concepts of great mischief had always been Hythlodaeus’ forte. And when Hythlodaeus called upon creation magicks this time, his soul was aflame with brilliant green. What came forth from his fingertips wasn’t a knickknack—

“What is it?” Azem asked, peering at a hand-sized hairy thing.

—but some sort of breathing…

“I do not quite know,” Hades whispered, quietly alarmed. It moved, then sprouted eight legs.

—crawling…

“Hm. Strange, but interesting nonetheless. I had thought of this concept once, but I did not except it to be so—well, ugly. I call it a spider.“

— _insect_ with too many eyes.

“I do not like how it is watching me, Hythlodaeus,” Hades hissed.

Azem sat perfectly still and whispered harshly. “I think it likes you.”

“It is not dangerous, my dear friends,” Hythlodaeus announced, unafraid, “Only curious. See?”

As Hythlodaeus moved, it, too, _moved_. Too quickly. Zipping out of sight. Absolutely nowhere to be found.

“I… do not like this concept,” Hades breathed shallowly, “Where did it go?”

Azem stood up gradually. “I am unsure, and I absolutely do not want to find out. Shall we, Hythlodaeus?”

“Indeed,” his dear friend said cheerfully. “I cannot believe it, but I think I am inspired anew. Creation is at my fingertips again. I can feel it! Oh, happy day!”

“Where are you two going?” Hades hissed.

“Away! I have so much lost time for which I must make up. Please take care of my newest concept, dearest Hades. I honestly do think it likes you very much!”

They left without another word. For hours, Hades crept around in his new apartment, looking under and behind this and that, unable to find Hythlodaeus’ new creation. But it _found him_ later, while he was in the bathtub. He never knew he himself could scream that loudly.

Never again would he trust Hythlodaeus’ concepts—and forever would he be terrified of spiders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	20. Where the Heart Is - Hades/Hythlodaeus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is "Where the heart is", which I interpreted as romantic—and immediately thought of these two! Super self-indulgent. A continuation of Chapter 4: "Muster."

_Where was his heart?_

That question plagued him for days then weeks. 

Hades sat at his desk where he felt the most grounded. Pondering further over his predicament while his cat Diacus played on the living room floor with one of the crow’s feathers. His pets had accompanied him through the worst of it: the guilt of kissing Hythlodaeus at all, then the acceptance. And now, the utter confusion. It had taken a day to confirm that, yes, he absolutely loved Azem. Then, only another to decide that he, too, loved Hythlodaeus, and in his own way, had always loved him. Weeks to reconcile the two, if it could be reconciled at all. How could he fall in love with his two best friends? Was there room for both of them? Or rather, did he have to choose?

He couldn’t begin to fathom deciding on one.

“I am such a fool,” Hades whispered aloud. 

Diacus abandoned the feather and jumped up on the desk. Something he didn’t usually allow, but in this one instance? The cat could do whatever he wanted. Diacus plopped down across it, and Hades ran a hand over his fur. Calming as it was, anxiety gnawed at his stomach. The cat chose right then to bat at a letter Hythlodaeus had sent.

One letter out of many. One for each day Hades refused to talk to him. Fourteen in all.

“What a love-struck idiot,” Hades whispered. To Hythlodaeus or to him, he didn’t quite know.

That was when he felt it. The pining, the elation in his soul. It only happened when Azem was around, and now, he discovered, when the fool himself was in near proximity. Impatient, concerned, Hythlodaeus had come to his apartments of all places—it was written in the beautiful lines of his soul. Something he could feel. When he could actually see his soul, hovering near his door, it was so bright with brilliant pinks, he could hardly breathe.

Hythlodaeus, absolutely in love with him, would break down his door if need be.

“Dearest Hades,” his friend whispered, “I know you are in there. I can see the anxiety riddling your soul. Please, if you feel comfortable, I plead that you let me in. Mayhap we can talk about this over tea and biscuits.”

Hades held his breath and stroked Diacus’ fur a little faster. When that didn’t calm him, he went about straightening the objects on his desk that didn’t need straightening. Neat and orderly—the very things he desired above all else in his life. This… love fiasco—it wasn’t neat and orderly. Only messy and chaotic.

“At least say a single word so that I know you still breathe—and do not hate me,” Hythlodaeus said.

“Of course I do not hate you,” Hades hissed, “That is the whole point, is it not? Why we are having this—problem in the first place. The absolutely opposite of hate has torn my life asunder.”

“Oh, Hades,” his friend returned gently, “I know it is a confusing time. But please. We needs not have this conversation apart. I promise, if you let me in, I will thoroughly behave.”

Hades scoffed. “I trust you as far as I can throw you, dear friend.”

“On my honor and word. On Diacus, Daeus and Azem herself.”

The golds of truth marbled his soul, with no mischief-green in sight. Hades pet Diacus a little more, whispered, “What do you think?” and when the cat didn’t answer, too engrossed in his bath, Hades relented and unlocked the door with the dismissive wave of his hand. It took not a single second for Hythlodaeus to whip open the door and close it behind him. Those droplets of red—of lust—spread like ink in the pinks and golds of his soul. And simply seeing it sparked a fire within him, too. Dangerous, as he knew it would be.

“Stay on the couch,” Hades instructed. 

Mesmerized, Hythlodaeus only nodded and sat down. Obviously quite tense if the rigid line of his body was anything to go by. Hades didn’t dwell on staring at it and wondering. He couldn’t afford to think about how his dearest friend might push him down on the couch and kiss him or ravage him. A starburst of lust must’ve shown in his soul, because Hythlodaeus straightened even more and whispered, “Just say the word.”

“No,” Hades shot out. Diacus took that moment to abandon him for Hythlodaeus, as was his wont. “I will not—not until, or if—or… we have to talk about this.”

“Tea and biscuits?”

Hades cut a devastating sigh and waved his hand. A mug of tea and biscuits appeared on the coffee table. Disappointment cracked Hythlodaeus’ soul. “I like it best when you make it from the kitchen.”

“Are you honestly whining about that at a time like this?”

Hythlodaeus took his mug of tea and sipped at it, petting Diacus. Sulking a little, but enjoying his treats nonetheless. The silence stretched on, growing heavy and awkward. Hythlodaeus noisily sipped his tea and ate biscuits, and Hades rearranged the objects on his desk for the fourth time. Neither of them saying a thing.

Annoying. Childish.

Somehow comforting.

“How long?” Hades asked finally. “How long have you—? That is—“

“How long have I been in love with you?” At length, his dear friend sighed, “Ages. Since first we met. There is a saying now among our people, I am sure you have heard. _Love at first sight_ , they call it. I think I brought that concept into being mistakenly. For when I first laid eyes upon you, I knew. And then I felt it. The beauty of creation then and there. I must have… somehow brought life to that very notion. I was always a romantic.”

Hades looked at the letters on his desk. They held poems and sonnets in their pages. Confessions of love. A romantic, indeed. The fact that he had brought that very idea into being—it was undeniably fitting.

“And while I am certain, you teeter on the edge of doubt,” Hythlodaeus continued.

“There is no doubt in my mind,” Hades confessed.

“Then?”

“What of Azem? What of my love for her?” Hades countered.

“Is there a bylaw that prevents you from loving two people?” Hythlodaeus asked, “If so, I have not yet heard of it.”

“But—“

“If you are suggesting that I am jealous or threatened by your love of Azem, you are mistaken. Nor is she of ours,” Hythlodaeus sipped his tea, eyeing him, “I see by the flush of your soul that you wonder if Azem knew. She’s known all along. Our dear friend would be happy for us. Nay, I believe she would enthusiastically say, ‘Finally!’ and hug us until we could not breathe.”

“Nothing is truly barring our way, then,” Hades whispered.

“Was anything truly? Besides you and your denial.”

Hades glowered at him but there was no malice in it. The anxiety in his soul finally eased, and he rounded the desk. All he wanted to do right then was hug his dear friend out of sheer relief. But that purity crumbled almost immediately when Hythlodaeus fixed him with a smoldering look. Hades watched him remove his mask and flip it to the side. Bright blue eyes, angled features, a strong jawline. Lips that would absolutely devastate him in a single kiss. Rarely did he see his dear friend without the hood of his robe. But he let it down now, his long brown hair on full display. His handsome face in all its glory. And when Hythlodaeus smiled, Hades finally broke.

They crashed together at his desk. Hythlodaeus cupped his face and kissed him, and his sudden warmth lit a fire within him he’d never known until now. It burned bright while they explored each other, greedy hands roaming anywhere and everywhere. A subtle mix of urgency and tenderness. It overwhelmed him, and Hades suddenly felt dizzy. Heady in love, yet vulnerable and raw all the same. Yet, he wouldn’t stop. Not this time.

His want triumphed over his weaknesses.

Hythlodaeus captured his bottom lip, teething it just a little. He wondered how his dear friend had learned to kiss so; passionately yet sweetly, disarming and unraveling him bit by bit with each second. Hythlodaeus swept thumbs over cheekbones, kissed his lips chaste, then crushed their mouths together as if he couldn’t live without him. Hades soon hungered for something else, and his soul blossomed with it. 

Right then was when Diacus jumped up on the desk.

“My boy,” Hythlodaeus whispered, absolutely wrecked, “I adore you, I do. But now is not the time.”

His dear friend gently scooped up the cat, deposited him in another room, and closed the door. Just enough time for Hades to get his bearings, recover a moment, then do something he never thought he’d ever do. With a sweep of his arm, he sent his desk objects crashing to the floor. And that alone lit a raging fire in both of them that they couldn’t dare stop. Nor did they want to.

Hythlodaeus took him right then and there on the desk. Kissing him, gentle with his movements, pushing into him over and over again in a way that was tender and loving. They found their satisfaction within each other’s arms, breaths heavy yet happy between the two of them. Elated and relieved.

Underneath Hythlodaeus’ hand, Hades found a heart-shaped crystal glowing pink. Something Hades had found time and time again, but had always attributed to Hythlodaeus’ love for Azem—when it was instead a love that was directed at him. Hades had always created butterflies for Azem, and when he looked—

Hythlodaeus looked, too, and found nothing. His soul broke open with hues of blue, disappointment and sadness. His dear friend chuckled but there was no mirth in it. “Mayhap I was not so inspiring after all.”

But that wasn’t true. Couldn’t have been. He only knew happiness as deep as the great oceans.

Hades finally caught something out of the corner of his eye and turned to look. Awe-struck. Hythlodaeus followed his gaze—to a network of flowers sprouting and growing across his walls, glowing in hues of blue shifting to green. Breathtaking in its beauty.

He knew then that his heart was where Hythlodaeus was—as it was, too, with Azem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	21. Rival - Hades & G'raha Tia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today was a free prompt, so I picked "rival."

The sun hung high in the sky, bright and absolutely intent on burning his delicate skin. No breeze in sight. He hated Thanalan the most in all of Eorzea.

Hades fussed to cover every strip of flesh while, ahead of him, G’raha Tia was obliviously humming along to a tune only he knew. Obnoxiously chipper—and annoying.

“Whatever could this farmer have that is of use to us at all? Nothing is worth toiling in this heat, would you not agree? I say we abandon this damnable quest and find shade,” Hades grouched.

“Oh, do be a bit more cheerful, my glum friend. We are on an adventure! Outside, fresh air, sunlight—the likes of which cannot be found inside The Rising Stones. Would you rather not be here?” G’raha returned joyfully.

“To wit, I could pick a hundred more places I would rather be—and many more a person with whom I would rather spend my day. And lest you forget, we are not friends. Are you listening to me, G’raha Tia? G’raha!”

His rival had sped off toward their quarry, a small village tucked into great trees and succulent blessed shade. Finally. A break from the sun—and G’raha’s incessant good mood. Hades breezed into the cluster of houses at his own pace, in his own way, and eventually found G’raha finishing up his conversation with a farmer in ratty clothes. 

“He requires plums,” G’raha announced when he met up with him, “As many as we can gather.”

“By your gods, another fetch quest?”

“What could be better than a fetch quest, dear Hades?” G’raha pressured.

“An eikon—fit to eat your horribly good mood. Perhaps even all of you. It would be a blessing.”

“Hm. I do believe Verity would be devastated if I perished—“

“She would get over it quickly,” Hades interjected.

“—and you would have to comfort her through all the many tears she would shed for me,” G’raha Tia flicked his ears, “I find it odd that you profess you love her and yet, all you wish for her is a life of heartbreak. Are you sure you feel as you do?”

Hades narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth—and G’raha raised a finger. “It would be best to complete our mission as soon as we can, and quit this bickering. Verity sent us here after all, and we simply must get our plum wine. So. A fetch quest it is. Do you not agree?”

“Fine. But let us make it interesting, then, at least. A wager,” Hades oozed, “The first to pick the most the quickest—“

G’raha wiggled his ears in interest, his tail flicking to and fro. _Adventure_ glittered in his eyes. Like a cat with his nip, this one.

“—gets a kiss from Verity.”

“I hardly think—“

“Commence,” Hades said.

And despite G’raha Tia’s misgivings, he darted off, disappearing faster than his banally human eyes could catch.

“I will have tea and biscuits instead,” he announced to no one and trudged off toward the farmer and his small house.

:::

Tea and biscuits had turned into story time, and soon, he had a small gathering of villagers hanging onto his every word. He spun tales of Garlemald, of theatre and plays he’d seen, of Ascians and triumphs—and still no G’raha Tia. It had been longer than two bells. If he had liked him at all, he would have been worried, but he didn’t, so he wasn’t. But then, the daydream of Verity crying plagued him, and so—

He was out in the plum orchards, too, searching for any signs of him. Nothing, as far as his eyes could see. Had G’raha left? Was he on the way back just now? What was—

There. 

A slumped form. Chestnut hair. G’raha Tia.

Hades sped over to him, studying his body for any signs of obvious injury. Nothing, as far as he could tell. But G’raha was in a fetal position. Mayhap—

When he flipped the prone form toward him, G’raha came alive—and smooshed plum into his face. His laugh was uproarious, yet Hades found no mirth in the situation. He sulked while staring daggers at him.

“How long has it been?” G’raha asked, “A bell? Two? What have you been doing all this time? Sleeping?”

“Plotting the ways in which I may simply get rid of you without burdening your precious Warrior of Light, you little—“

The brush shifted abruptly, and before they could think—hunters. Arrows. G’raha Tia took one in the shoulder, before they could dispatch three of them, and two more preceding the retreat of the last of them.

G’raha Tia wavered on his feet, hissing out, “Poison,” then collapsed in a heap. Truly and fairly unconscious this time. Hades sighed dramatically.

It had taken all his effort and might to drag him—and the plums, of course—to the village’s chirurgeon, whom easily enough cured his poison and healed his injuries. Rest was all G’raha needed now.

And that was the one thing he wouldn’t allow. 

Hades teased the very tip of G’raha’s ear with the lightest of touches. It flicked, again and again, with each and every poke—and eventually, the peacefully slumbering G’raha Tia awoke. He groaned, scooched away from him and whispered, “Hades, please. Will you not let me rest?”

“No,” he said flatly. “And I must say, as much as you enjoy adventure, you are not very good at it.”

G’raha’s his ears fell flat on his head—a reckoning. “Had I a companion whom I could trust—“

“Had you not feigned your wounds to begin with—“

“Had you simply not come with me like any of the rest of our friends—“ G’raha shot back.

“Had you not always been so insufferably _annoying_.”

“Had you not— _argh_.” G’raha rolled onto his side, hissing. A sudden wave of pain, if his scrunched up face was any indication. 

Quickly, Hades held out his hand, summoning forth the scraps of healing magick he’d been practicing as of late. His had glowed, and G’raha Tia stretched out a little—the bit of pain he’d experienced seemingly all but completely gone. His grimace was soon replaced with a smile.

“Perhaps you do like me after all,” G’raha teased.

“Or, rather—and much more sensical—is that I am terrified of Verity. Whatever would happen to me if I hurt so much as a single hair on her favorite catboy?”

G’raha narrowed his eyes. “I would prefer it if—“

“Shh,” Hades covered his mouth, “You should rest. I will give you half a bell, then leave you here if you are not ready. Agreed? Good.”

By nightfall, they were on their way home with plum wine. G’raha Tia hummed his ridiculous tune, and every once in a while, sent him a knowing smile. Hades wished right then he hadn’t rushed to help him. But wasn’t he somewhat glad for it nonetheless? For if he didn’t have his greatest rival, humanity would be quite boring indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	22. Foibles - Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foible: a minor weakness or eccentricity in someone's character.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Stink kink, choking, breath play, dirty talk, rough sex, mention of safe word, comfort.

The newness of his humanity had brought its foibles, eccentricities that had manifested in his senses in particular. They had cycles, waxed and waned without sense or order. He’d love the smell of roses one day, unable to smell them at all the next—or hate them altogether. Unpredictable. Annoying.

Sometimes, exciting. 

Verity clenched around his fingers as he slipped them deeper inside her. He enjoyed the round, soft notes of her groans in his ear—the rhythm of her quickened breaths, the pitch of her voice when she called his name through her second orgasm. Today, everything she could utter hit his eardrums just right, and the thought of her opening her mouth to say anything made his cock harder than it should. 

Truly nothing, though, compared to how she _smelled_.

Hades kissed her throat then nuzzled the hollow spot just behind her ear. Hastily, he wiped her slick on her collarbone, her pulse point, the bottom of her chin, then engorged himself on the smell of her. She hadn’t bathed in a few days, like he’d requested, much to her own disgust—and the stink of her drove him wild. Days’ of sweat clung to her skin, and with it, a faint note of blood and dirt from the road. And among all of that, like an oasis in the desert, the thick heady scent of her womanhood, just on the edge of ripeness that demanded cleanliness. To him, a heaven to his senses.

He wanted a taste.

Hades kissed her skin and traded affections between each pert breast, before kissing lower and lower still. Above him, Verity struggled and tightened her thighs around his head—a silent denial of what he wanted most. His disappointment was a harsh huff, and as punishment, he nipped her neck a little harder than he should have. But she was in one of her moods again, where only roughness would suffice—and her groan was otherworldly. The press of her hips against his demanded that he run her through and now, as was her wont.

He’d take his time instead.

Hades buried his nose into her neck again, smelling all of her. But it wasn’t enough. He licked what he could of her off the length of his fingers. Teased her with the tip of his cock right where she needed it—and he should’ve felt it before it happened. That tremble of impatience in her thighs only led to one terrible thing.

“The Twelve damn you, Hades. I want you to fuck—“

His hand clamped down on her mouth, fingernails biting into her skin. Her moan was muffled, the sound of it pleasing, but not enough to take the sting away. This cycle, filthy words struck his ears in all the wrong ways. He’d always hated them, indeed, but this time—

“Pray tell, darling,” his voice a broken shard of glass, “What have I told you about your mouth? Do you want me to hurt you?”

Theirs was an understanding in violence during one of her turns—oddly consensual, as it had always been. Even now, her silver eyes glittered with the promise.

Finger by finger, he peeled his hand away, leveling her with a look that should’ve silenced her, but absolutely didn’t.

“Fuck you,” came the hiss.

There was a ringing in his ears, slight but existent, seeding anger in his gut. Quick and as devastating as lightning, Hades gripped her hair and pulled her spine at a harsh angle. She let out a keening, a broken shattered little groan, and pinned her hips just so to widen her thighs, wanting all of him.

“Fuck my cunt, godsdamn you,” Verity whispered, her voice a tattered thing.

Her grabbed her throat and squeezed as pain made his head swim. Then, he shoved inside without mercy, slamming into her wet warmth until his muscles ached. Beneath him, her body sucked him in, greedy, tightened around his hard length even as she struggled to breathe. Her face flushed, but he held on, fucking her relentless while his hands tightened still. He watched earnestly for her three fingers—the signal—but it never came. He trusted that the Warrior of Light knew her own limits. And when she fell apart under his thrusts, when she hit her third climax with an aborted grunt, he let go, riding out his last needs and spilling into her.

Beside him now, Verity took longer to catch her breath, and when she finally recovered, he gathered her in his arms and kissed her temple. 

“Please, do tell me you have not forgotten your safe word, my dear,” he whispered.

“Of course not. I didn’t need it. I told you I know my limits. And—well, I guess I just needed rougher handling today.”

“Why? What did you see out there?” he asked gently.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

So, they didn’t. He stole one last whiff off her neck, earning him one of her stinging swats—and as punishment, he smothered her in his loving embrace. Like this, in each other’s arms, they fell asleep into dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	23. Argy-bargy - Emet-Selch/G'raha Tia/Warrior of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argy-bargy (british): noisy quarrelling or wrangling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, our discord had so much fun cackling over this word. I think it's my favorite so far. Plus, I was able to add my second favorite "Lest?" which comes from an Urianger meme. 
> 
> ALSO. To those of you that commented on my last fic about G'raha seeming a little bit like Hythlodaeus, this one is for you. Because now, I can't stop thinking about it. _look what you did._ I'm also having way too much fun writing these two bickering. <333
> 
> Continuation from Chapter 21: Rival.

“You must simply find G’raha,” Alphinaud stated out of the blue one day.

Seated comfortably in the main room of The Rising Stones, Hades didn’t bother looking up from his book. “Why? Gotten his tail stuck in a door again, has he?”

“What? No—wait. Pray tell, when has G’raha gotten his tail stuck? And how?”

“Another story for another time,” he snapped, “Out with it, boy.”

“G’raha... he—has that look in his eyes.”

“The _I am an absolute idiot_ look? Or his usual _I want to fuck Verity_ look?” Hades pressed.

Alphinaud opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. “I—uh.”

“The latter!” Alisaie piped in, “It’s always the latter!”

Hades abandoned his spot immediately and jumped up. “Where?” and when Alphinaud gestured vaguely, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him—out the back of The Rising Stones, to the small makeshift garden they’d practically cut out of the walls. The smell of lilacs and roses hit him first, then—

Verity and G’raha Tia stood close to each other, too close, and Hades oozed and leaned into the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. Expression set to a scowl.

“And what is this, then? A lover’s tryst?” Hades grouched.

G’raha turned and beamed him a sunny smile, his ears expressing his joy with a little wiggle. “Ah! There you are. I was afraid we might have had to start without you. Imagine my disappointment.”

He narrowed his eyes. “And what exactly are you up to this time, dear G’raha?”

Verity fixed him with a tight smile. “Apparently, you made him a bet about kissing me.”

Ah, that. He’d wondered when that little detail would return to bite him in the arse, as it were. Still, Hades feigned his innocence. “The Scholar of Lies strikes again, I see. Why would I allow a cretin like G’raha Tia to kiss you? That sounds absolutely unlike me.”

It was Verity’s turn to narrow her eyes. “Because you would do absolutely anything to get out of what you deign beneath you. Even sacrificing me as bait.”

“Preposterous.”

“I agree,” G’raha quipped, his ears aflutter again, “I hardly believed it when you said it, but here I am to collect, as dependable as ever. Naturally, I want you to witness it. Perhaps it is about time you learn how to kiss a lady properly.”

Hades scoffed. “Interesting, indeed—yet I would be pressed to find a lady present.”

“And is that not your problem, dear Hades? You simply do not treat Verity as the goddess she truly is.”

“To wit, that is laying it on a little thick, even for you,” Hades huffed.

“Maybe so. But do you not agree?”

Hades rolled his eyes and looked at Verity. “Will you not be the hero I need and save me from this?”

“No. I’m rather hoping you two will get into your usual tussle—and end it with a kiss.”

“ _Ehugh_ ,” they said together.

“Perhaps when we fail to stop the Eighth Umbral Calamity,” G’raha said. He took in the seriousness of her face right then, his tail an exclamation point of surprise, “Unless? That is truly what you desire?”

“I beg your pardon—“ Hades squeaked.

“I think they are having a bit of an argy-bargy, Sister,” Alphinaud whispered.

“Oh, come on. Only you know what that means, you dolt,” hissed Aliasie.

Hades cut them a glare, and they both gasped and scattered back down the hall like little mice. 

“I will kiss you as long as you’d like, Raha,” Verity whispered, her voice husky, her hands adjusting his tunic, “—if you kiss Hades first.”

“ _What,_ ” Hades hissed.

Stunned, G’raha wavered on his feet, then blinked hard. “We shan’t. Lest? You are true about this?”

Verity gave him a small slip of a smile, one he’d seen time and time again in the bedroom. Deviance and seduction all wrapped up into one li—

G’raha was upon him before he could register it. The heat of his body was his first warning, the way he grabbed his collar the second. Then, all at once, a rush of supple lips against his own, pressing hot and needy against his mouth. It tasted forbidden, like chocolate, as sinful and sweet as raspberries. Ephemeral. There then gone.

He would never live down the fact that it’d made him a little flushed. Warm and tingly somewhere else too.

Hades cleared his throat. “I certainly hope you’ll not kiss her like that. She would be liable to throw you out of her little band of misfits, as terrible as that was.”

Verity met his gaze—and she knew, he wagered. She had always been able to figure him out.

“May I?” 

G’raha inched toward her, sweeping up her hands into his own, and brushed his thumbs over her knuckles. Tenderly, as if she were the finest in all the land—and wasn’t she? A flush of rose spread over her cheeks. With him, she wasn’t used to such romance. More likely was he to take her rough, like she wanted it, forgetting that slow and loving was often best. With G’raha, it could be something else entirely.

And, suddenly, like a tsunami, a feeling of inadequacy crushed him.

“Well. As much as I would like to witness this travesty—“

“And you will witness it,” G’raha said sternly, “As I have witnessed a hundred of yours. I bid you to stay.”

“And if I refuse, Ser? Will you punish me?”

G’raha leveled him with a look. “With a vengeance.”

His eyebrows took flight, arching high. The intensity in his eyes, the seriousness in his face—it promised retribution beyond what he’d ever experienced, and an intense heat flared between his legs. 

Then, Verity and G’raha kissed. He cupped her face first, lining her jaw with the delicate brush of thumbs. Softly, he pressed his lips to hers, and for a moment, Hades wondered what they might feel like on his again. He almost yearned to taste that decadence once more, of dark depths and sugar—wondered, too, if he could pull that darkness out of him. Make G’raha, as sweet as he was, far more... dominant than he seemingly pretended to be.

And when G’raha intensified their kiss, unhinging his jaw to sweep his tongue inside her mouth—he wished that were him instead. Wished that G’raha’s strong hands might squeeze his hips like they did hers—that G’raha might dare close the distance between them and slot their hips together. The way in which Verity responded to him, eyes closed, blissed beyond compare—it told him that she was taken with him, his kiss, his touch. He didn’t know jealousy right then, but a yearning he didn’t know he had.

When it was over, when they hesitated to pull apart, Hades felt the loss so evident on Verity’s face—for, in some way, he himself had experienced it, too. G’raha Tia kissed her forehead, pressed his against hers for a lingering second, and let go. His fingers trailed along her arm, captured her hand, then released at the last possible second—two lovers saying goodbye for a final time. 

With a bow, a sultry, “My lady,” G’raha Tia left her there, stunned and strutted toward him. Ears and tail flicking with triumph. Hades almost didn’t mind, because when G’raha put a hand on his shoulder, whatever ire he had simply vanished.

“Next time, perhaps you will not choose to be so utterly lazy,” G’raha whispered.

Hades angled his chin toward him, unable to avoid looking at his lips. “And mayhap, next time, I simply won’t bother to come looking for you.”

He had the audacity to wink. “Oh, I assure you that you most definitely will.”

That little smirk disappeared as G’raha left the garden, a spring in his step and a twitch to his tail. Lilies and chamomile interrupted his study of G’raha’s departure, and a touch found the hard heat between his legs.

“I believe we both need a bit of relief, don’t we?” Verity whispered.

Hades bent her over right then and there in the garden—their minds not consumed with each other, no, but completely fixated on a certain red-eyed Miqo’te, whose kiss changed everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me. :sweatblob:
>
>> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
>> 
>> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	24. Shuffle - Hades & Azem & Hythlodaeus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuffle; rearrange (a pack of cards) by sliding them over each other quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had something more vulnerable planned for this, but I didn't feel comfortable sharing it—so adorable trio it is! These three make me giggle so much with their shenanigans.

They sat around his coffee table in his apartments, as Azem explained the rules of a card game she’d picked up during one of her travels. Five cards, a round of betting based on criteria of winning, throwaways, new cards and more betting. Then, a winner.

 _Poque_ , she’d called it.

Rules were rules—and part of the rules included the allowance for bluffing, which sparked a mesmerizing shatter of mischief greens across Hythlodaeus’ soul in particular. He was practically sparkling like an emerald.

Hades shuffled the cards over and over again while Azem carefully went over the rules. Pairs. Three of a kind. Flush. Straight—and a smattering of other win scenarios floated into one ear and out the other. He stared at Hythlodaeus, while the deviant himself feigned innocence, sipped his sweet tea and nibbled on a biscuit.

“No creation magic at the coffee table,” Hades grouched, “And absolutely no cheating, Hythlodaeus.”

Hythlodaeus blinked comically and fluttered a hand to his chest. “Dear Hades, I have never before been so utterly wounded. How dare you assume that I would cheat—when I can and will beat you without it.”

“It is the luck of the cards—“

“There is an art in bluffing,” Azem added helpfully.

“—which our dearest honorable Emet-Selch simply cannot do since it involves lying,” Hythlodaeus gloated.

“I do not need to bluff to win, provided the two of you—but most specifically you, Hythlodaeus—adhere to the rules,” Hades shot back.

“Sweet dear friend,” Hythlodaeus cooed, “You need not worry about the rules. I will absolutely follow them—and bluff my way to victory.”

Hades grumped and shuffled the cards one last time, then passed out the appropriate number to each. The first couple of hands went off without a hitch. Azem won with a three of a kind; Hades with two pairs; and somehow, without bluffing, Hythlodaeus won with a flush.

Then, things got questionable.

Like the facet in a jewel, Hythlodaeus’ soul glimmered with the scintillating colors of green—absolutely beautiful, if it hadn’t meant that his dear friend was up to no good.

“I bet two tea biscuits—“ 

“Wow, a big bet,” Azem gasped.

“He has nothing in truth,” Hades corrected.

Hythlodaeus sat back, scandalized. “And how would you know that, dear Hades? Are you perchance reading my soul?”

Hades narrowed his eyes. 

With another gasp, Azem swatted him on the arm. “Are you truly?”

Hythlodaeus grinned. “I believe that is what you call cheating.”

“I concur!” Azem exclaimed.

“Fine,” Hades scowled, “But the next time either of you need me to test one of your silly concepts, count me out.”

“Oh, do not pout, dear friend. It is unbecoming of you. Besides,” Hythlodaeus turned back to his cards, “You have yet to bet.”

“I call your two tea biscuits,” Hades announced.

When they revealed their cards—

“Hythlodaeus won with a Royal Flush,” Azem said in wonder.

“How? You were bluffing,” Hades pointed out.

“Was I? Or did you read my soul incorrectly, dear Hades?”

“It was as green as mischief can be,” Hades returned while Azem gathered the cards and shuffled.

“Ah. Then, you do admit to reading my soul in a game in which cheating is forbidden. Tsk, tsk, my darling friend. I had not known you to be such a scoundrel. Well done.”

“That still does not answer why—“ Then, it dawned on him. Hades pointed at him accusingly. “Can you somehow alter the color of your soul?”

Hythlodaeus nibbled on one of his winnings and shrugged innocently. But that little smile on his face said everything.

—and the next round went to hells.

Hythlodaeus plopped down five Aces.

It took both Hades and Azem to do the math, before—

Hades flopped down his cards in a huff. “There are only four aces in a deck!”

—which made Hythlodaeus giggle, grab his mountain of tea biscuits and exclaim, “Nevertheless, my dear Hades, I have enough tea biscuits for a whole week!”

“But you cheated,” Azem said sadly.

“Hades pegged me a cheat before this had even begun, dear Azem. I simply had to live up to my name.”

Hades narrowed his eyes and, with a snap, his tea biscuits disappeared. Hythlodaeus gasped before his face collapsed into an over-dramatic expression of sadness.

“Pouting does not become you, dearest,” Hades said smugly.

“Nor do your screams,” Hythlodaeus returned.

A spider dropped from the ceiling, and he did scream, in fact—leaving Azem a sighing puddle of disappointment. “We simply cannot have a normal night, can we?”

And it was the first of many nights they would call _game night_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	25. Beam - Emet-Selch/G'raha Tia/Warrior of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I used a loose definition of this prompt today! The prompt is "Beam" (as in 'a beam in one's eye') and I picked: a fault that is greater in oneself than in the person one is finding fault with (allusion to biblical teachings).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little quick one today!

It’d happened so quickly. 

She never stood a chance.

At The Rising Stones, and in Dawn’s Respite, where once had housed sleeping Scions, Verity clung to the very tatters of her life.

—and in the main hall, Hades clenched and unclenched his fists, while G’raha Tia paced the room frantically. Waiting.

“What is taking so long?” G’raha hissed, “We should have word by now.”

“Do not doubt Krile’s stubbornness or canny for healing. She will not let slip Verity into the Lifestream, I assure you,” Hades replied.

But G’raha wasn’t listening. “I should have been there. I should have saved her from him. I sh—“

“Not a single one among us could have predicted that Zenos would attack as such, G’raha. Aught will come of blaming yourself.”

“I do blame myself! Had I not been ready—“ G’raha dragged a sleeve across his face, “I swear to it, if something ill happens to her, I will tear this star apart.”

“Always one for the dramatic—“

“Me? Dramatic?” G’raha seethed, “Says you whom epitomizes drama. And yet, you are unbearably calm. Why is that, Hades? Are you not afraid she may slip from us?”

“You dare ask me such a ridiculous question,” Hades spat back.

“I do. You fought so hard as Emet-Selch to kill thousands for the Rejoining—yet here you are, more calm than I have ever seen you. Do you not love her?”

The question struck him as Zenos’ blade might, tearing a jagged hole in his chest. He filled it with rage before he could think and rushed G’raha quicker still. They stood toe-to-toe, and Hades yanked at his collar.

“You know that I do. You of all know she consumes my every waking moment, my every breath. Love for another does not always mean ravaging the land with hatred, anger, or fear. Nay, it is the simmering storm on the horizon that is the most dangerous of them all. And would not Verity want us to remain calm through this? Believe in her, rather than fret and tear each other asunder?”

G’raha nodded as tears spilled from his face, as worry pinned his ears back and set his tail to wild twitching. Gingerly, Hades cupped his face and swept thumbs across his cheekbones. They shared a breath in the tight space between them; the warmth a balm to their twined souls which ached more than they could bear.

“She will survive this—and we too,” Hades whispered. “Then, we strike with a vengeance.”

G’raha nodded his accord again, his fingers a loose hold on Hades’ wrists. And finally, when his ears lifted and a bit of hope swirled in his eyes, Hades pulled away.

The door to the sleeping quarters opened.

“She’s awake,” Krile said, haggard, “—and she’s asking for you, Hades.”

“Hades, wait!” G’raha called to him, “Promise me that you and I—together—will never let anything come to harm her again.”

“I promise it. On my life,” Hades answered, a step inside Dawn’s Respite already, “And G’raha—“

His ears pitched up and forward. Hades looked inside, to the darkness of the vast room beyond, then to him again. “She will undoubtedly ask after you next. Come.”

And together, they went—side by side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	26. Wish - Emet-Selch/G'raha Tia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wish.. I think we all know what that means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Hades/G'raha Tia/Verity. Sorry, not sorry!

“From where did you say you learned this game?” G’raha asked over the noise.

Hades shuffled, cut and reshuffled the deck before peering up at him through lashes. G’raha wiggled his ears, his cheeks round with cherubic charm, as red eyes captured his own in wonder and amusement. 

Lately, the two of them had been spending time together—too much, in fact—and G’raha always made it a point to remain infectiously positive and cheerful with quick smiles and deep laughter, all despite the dower circumstances. While also being terribly, insufferably _annoying_.

“Someplace long forgotten, eons ago,” Hades said dismissively with an equally flippant hand wave.

But G’raha wasn’t listening. He was standing on his tip-toes and leaning forward over the great table in Dawn’s Respite. It was the only way he could see her. Because there, in one of the beds, slept Verity, oblivious to the world and recuperating from her wounds. She hadn’t truly woken up since the attack, but with Krile’s help, she’d overcome the worst of it. Her outcome looked positive—and so would they endeavor to be, however they could.

And for G’raha Tia that meant smothering her.

“How many times is that, Raha?” Out of the corner of his eyes, G’raha stilled, staring at him. His ears twined vertical lines of shock. Never had he used the Scions’ nickname for him—and he immediately regretted it. “Ten in the last two minutes, would you say?”

Finally, G’raha sat down and gathered his five cards, barely looking at them. “Only ten? Well, I should make a conscious effort to try harder, then. Ten is much too few. Besides,” he continued, and the embarrassed flush to his cheeks made him even more charming, somehow. “One of us must keep watch to note the slightest improvements to her condition. And I dare say, you do not seem an onze interested. Peculiar, given how much you love her.”

Two of a kind. He bet two chips, a fair one given the odds, then, without returning G’raha’s inquisitive look, said matter-of-factly: “I need not mother-hen her back to the Lifestream, as it were. Not when I can feel her soul all the same, without so much as a glan—“

“Can you truly?” G’raha interrupted, “Feel her soul, that is? Wish that I could do the same verily. You must tell me what it feels like. Pray, tell me she knows no suffering.”

“To wit, I will sing you a lullaby if you wish it, so long as you look at your damn cards and bet. I have a game to win,” Hades grumbled. And when G’raha finally did— “The lasting pain she feels is not anything she cannot overcome. Yet, her confusion is deep, almost suffocating. Try as she might, she cannot will herself awake—and it frightens her. But— _by your gods_ , G’raha Tia, do sit down. There is naught we can do for her now. Not when she so deeply sleeps.”

“I worry for her still,” G’raha leaned forward, trying to peek at her, “I picked her favorite flowers and left them by her bed. Does she know? Can you tell, I mean? Do you think she likes them? But ah, what if they smell too strongly? Indeed. I should move them.”

As G’raha stood yet again, Hades cut a sigh and clamped a hand down on his. “Please. I beg. Cease your constant worry and fussing—for the three of us. Drink your hot cocoa and play the game. It would do you well.”

G’raha hesitated, teetered between standing and sitting, before ultimately returning back to the game and his drink. He sipped it gingerly, and like a kit with its nip, he laughed a little. “Perhaps I worry too much—and you too little, by and by. When did you last pick flowers for her, I wonder, or at least, show her a token of your love? Surely, it was not so long ago.”

He shuffled the cards slowly, cutting, shuffling, recutting while his thoughts raced and swirled. When was the last time indeed? Before he could answer, G’raha interjected with a touch on his arm. “Does not a time immediately spring to mind? Has it been so long, dear Hades? Why so? Granted, you are not so romantically inclined, indeed—even frigid, at times—but you must be able to remember something, yes?”

With precise flicks of his wrist, he tossed cards at him one by one, each dangerously and recklessly careening toward him—one even nicking him on the finger. G’raha flinched as a result, cleared his throat and gathered his cards. “My apologies. I do not yet know my boundaries with you. Even still. If I may make an observation—“

“You may not.”

“Mayhap there is something between the two of you. Vulnerabilities yet unspoken, which make it difficult to truly connect deeper than you do. The Warden’s Light. Her defeating you. The guilt the pair of you each shoulder—“

“Raha,” Hades whispered, “Please.”

His ears flicked. “Right. The game. What did you call this again?”

“ _Poque_.”

“Right—and did I win this round?”

G’raha flopped a full house to his pair, with another insufferably cheeky grin. He tried to hide it with the rim of his cup, but mischief sparkled in his eyes. His soul sight had considerably weakened with his newfound humanity, but he could still see it. A beautiful lush shade of emerald green, though very faint. Brilliant across his soul.

Oh, how he wished for Hythlodaeus right then. He missed him terribly so.

“You clearly lost, but are smiling still—whatever for, dear Hades? Have I done something amusing?”

He looked away, schooling his face into a frown while he shuffled the deck anew. “Nothing more than your usual and ridiculous antics, I am afraid. Unfortunately, you remind me of another charming idiot I once knew.”

“Charming,” G’raha echoed, a soft smile curving his lips, “Was he also undeniably brilliant? And handsome?”

Hades rolled his eyes and passed out another set of cards. He took a moment to sip his tea, as black as pitch, ignoring how G’raha studied him over the top of his dealt hand. That emerald mischief alight.

“Might I ask if you had relations with him? Oh, do not give me that look. You very well know what relations I suggest—the type that has softened you considerably to whom you once deemed your greatest rival.”

“Once? I still do,” Hades fired back, “Lest you mistake my somewhat tolerance for your existence—it is nothing more than a desire to keep the peace.”

“So you say,” G’raha returned just as quickly, “But the way you responded to Verity’s dare—and my resultant kiss—truly suggests otherwise.”

“Ha! I was stunned still. How else should one react to kissing a plague toad?”

G’raha laughed, and his ears wiggled with delight. “Surely, you jape, dear friend. You cannot lead me to believe that the flush to your cheeks was but a trick of my eyes.”

“Absolutely delusional. So desperate are you for affection that _that_ is precisely what you wanted to see.”

“If it is as you say, and you truly felt nothing,” G’raha said, his voice taking on a more... daring tone, “Then you won’t refuse my wager. Another kiss, as it were. If you react non, I swear it: I will never mention it again.”

His brows arched heavenward, the mere mention of another sending a bolt of levin down his spine. The king of hearts stared at him, judging, as heat blossomed between his legs. 

He cleared his throat.

“No,” he stated plainly, “Rather would I sunbathe in your Mothercrystal’s radiant light than kiss you again.”

With a half smile, Hades flopped down a Royal Flush, then smugly sipped his tea.

G’raha chuckled, obviously charmed. “Triumphant—yet a coward, I see.”

“A plagueless satisfied coward, nonetheless.”

“That you are, my friend,” G’raha said, slapping his palms on his thighs, “And as much as I would love to watch you gloat, it is time to retire to bed. The night grows late, indeed. Yet I am truly grateful for your time—your company, and this wonderful hot cocoa; the true star of our evening.”

A moment of silence stretched between them, thick and tangible. Heavy save for what happened before his eyes. He could almost see it clearly; the way that flush of green dissipated like a curl of smoke on the wind. A drop of determination, as blue as the Crystal Tower, spreading on the canvas of his soul—and that was when G’raha Tia stood, came closer, and moved as if to pass him, albeit way too close to be accidental.

They touched for just a second—and it was a temptation he simply couldn’t bear.

Hades caught his wrist and held it lightly between his fingers, thumb brushing the tender inside with the faintest of affection. There was a hitch of breath—a strangled noise of urgent need. Then, his voice, low, wrecked, struggling for control—

“Desperate or no, I hunger all the same.”

G’raha tilted his chin up with the kiss of fingers and pressed their mouths together. Light and exploratory, warmer and sweeter than he could have imagined. Chocolate again, gifted with a whisper of marshmallow—and something else. A secret bite of smoke, of alcohol, of whisky glinting in sunlight. Hades took a breath, and with it, surged upward to deepen their kiss, careful not to demand, but to ask—no, _beg_ —with all his being.

He knew no greater satisfaction than swallowing down G’raha’s groan.

He wanted more like them.

—so many more.

Hades straightened his spine and inched upward, anything to capture more of his mouth. G’raha responded graciously to his needs, carding fingers through his hair at back of his head—holding him gently, finding that perfect angle. And when he opened his mouth just a little more—

It felt like being reborn.

Hades took more of him, sweeping his tongue into his mouth as gentle as he could, savoring him. Yet all he wanted to do was kneel for him and take him into his mouth—or spread his thighs for him, right there on the table. Instead, he let his hands hover on his hips, dragging him closer, down—

Straddle him there on the armless chair—rutting hot and close and hard—

That was what he wanted more than anything, what he imagined as he licked into his sweet mouth... There was a groan.

—but it was neither of theirs.

Verity.

G’raha was the first to spring apart and rush over to her—the kiss long forgotten as they both huddled around her. She blinked her sleepiness away, and G’raha gathered her hand in both of his, thumbs softly stroking her knuckles. She saw G’raha and smiled, then her eyes set about to search—

He was too stunned to move, wavering on his own insecurities and failure to protect her. Blessedly, G’raha noticed and grabbed his arm to pull him closer, and the three of them whispered concerns, promises and sweet nothings into the wee bells of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok ok ok. I’ve spent so many years in m/m dominated fandoms, and I absolutely miss that, tbh. I guess that’s why I’m latching so hard onto these two lately. They’re ruining my life in a good way, and I’m having SO much fun. No regrets!
>
>> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
>> 
>> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	27. When Pigs Fly - Emet-Selch/G'raha Tia/Warrior of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Pigs Fly (i.e. impossible). But since porxies fly on the First, I changed it to "When dodos fly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hades/G'raha Tia/Verity Iverness.
> 
>  **Warning!** Mentions of suicide attempts.

She’d recuperated enough for them to return to their private housing in Mor Dhona—where they now lay in her bedroom during the dead of night. Beside him, she fidgeted and turned over a little bit. A quiet sigh escaped her lips, then he heard clicking sounds. Finally, her voice.

“Hades? Are you awake?”

He snapped twice, then a third time. Two orbs, the color of warm candlelight, appeared at his fingertips—the extension of his magick. They shuffled around one another, and that was how he strengthened his skills. Through commonplace exercises. 

Oh, how far he had fallen.

Hades stole a glance at her and flinched. That ugly scarf again, skewered between two knitting needles. “Ah. I always wondered how that particular scarf had become so hideous—you knit it in the dark.”

The warm light caressed her beautiful face, features scrunched up in an amused little scowl. “It isn’t ugly! It’s unique,” she pouted, then gestured to his orbs, “And what about those? They’re terribly small.”

“Have you not been told it is rude to criticize a man on the size of his balls, my dear?”

Together, they shared a little laugh—and by her gods, her smile was stunning. It had been too long since he’d seen it true, and he studied her to take all of it in. The way joy reached her eyes and made them catch the light like quicksilver. She was happiness incarnate when she laughed, and it took his breath away every time.

But he’d never tell her.

That would be... too vulnerable.

“I know that expression,” she whispered, “What are you thinking about?”

The orbs spun around each other in an unintentional representation of his growing anxiety. It gnawed through his stomach, and dread punctured his sternum. G’raha had spoken of the vulnerabilities that separated them. Was it not important to talk about those things? Almost losing her brought to bear its absolute necessity.

“That fool Raha—something he said,” Hades finally admitted.

“‘Raha,’ is it? By the Twelve, how long was I out? A month? A year?” she gasped and touched his arm, “More? Never have you been so informal about him.”

“Are you damn and well finished?”

She laughed into his shoulder, and warmth bubbled up within him, relieving some of his anxiety. And yet...

“What did he say, then? It must be important given how deeply you’re considering his words. Whatever could he have said to furrow your brow so much, darling?”

“Our twined pain we each shoulder—guilt that somehow prevents us from deepening our relationship. There is some truth to that, is there not? The guilt? When have we last been vulnerable with each other?”

He flipped onto his side to face her, and she did the same, abandoning her knitting to trace his jawline, his collarbone with a delicate finger. Then, to the scar on his chest where she’d struck him with Ardbert’s axe. Her eyes immediately welled up with tears.

“I—“ she took a moment, clearing her throat, sniffling, “I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you. For taking you away from me. For the many months I wandered alone—for the attempts I made on my own life. It’s…”

He captured her fingers with his own, kissing the tips of them, down, further still, to kiss at the old scars on each of her wrists. Hoping that, by some miracle, that alone would heal her hurts, yet knowing ultimately it couldn’t begin to touch the deep well of pain within her. 

At last, he smiled, trying to be hopeful. She smiled too, and he wiped her tears away. 

“Forever will I wish that our paths had been different on the First—that we had not been pitched against each other, but on the same side, working for a better future. But we are here now, are we not? The way it should have been. And I forgive you—and I hope you me. Does that not count for something? Can we not move past this together and start anew? Without this… shield of regrets between us?”

“It’s not so easy, my dear Hades.”

“And I face that with full knowing. We need to try. This can no longer separate us. I will not allow it. I, too, must find some way to forgive myself for what I did to you—the Warden’s Light.”

“You were tempered, my darling. Had you any other choice? You helped us defeat Elidibus, did you not? And, as you said, we are here, are we not?” Verity inched forward, placing a sweet kiss on his lips, then whispering, “I forgive you. And we are here now. So yes, let’s forget that which separates us—as Raha said.”

“Were it that easy, as you say,” Hades whispered back.

She kissed him again. “We will endeavor to work on it, won’t we? You aren’t perfect after all.”

He rolled his eyes, albeit playfully, “And you are an absolute disaster—the worst I have seen.”

Verity closed the distance a little more, whispering in his ear, “But I’m your disaster.”

“Unfortunately.”

They huddled together, and he rested his chin atop her head. She danced a finger over his throat, kissed it gently—then smiled, devious. He could practically smell her mischief.

“You and Raha—you have become rather... acquainted. Are you two...?”

She pulled away enough to get an angle on his face, to read his expression. But all he did was lift his brows in question.

“Are we...?”

With a crooked smile and wiggling eyebrows, she made several obscene hand gestures, which broke her open into laughter again. And once more, he rolled his eyes playfully.

“A disaster, indeed,” Hades quipped, “And no, we are not fucking, as it were. Although...”

“Although...?” Verity echoed, hanging onto his every word.

“We did—“ Hades began, then dropped his voice, “—share another kiss.”

“You did?!” Verity clapped her hands together, “How cute! What was it like? And by the gods, why didn’t you go further?”

“You chose that time to awaken from your slumber, of course.”

“Ugh. I have the absolute worst timing!” Verity sobered up quickly, “But then, you like each other, yes? Will you...? You know?”

He stopped her hands before she could make more lewd gestures and dragged her close to his chest. “You seem rather invested in this—more than I.”

“Please. I’ve been invested since you looked at each other crossways. I knew if I put you two together on enough adventures, you’d become friends, at least. Hopefully more.”

“Absolutely devious—typical, to wit. And to what end, pray tell? So that the three of us may fuck and live happily ever after?”

At her long length of silence, he lifted her chin, so that he might see her expression. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down.

 _Yes_ in every way but in words.

“When dodos fly,” Hades declared.

“But hypothetically...”

“Your gods,” he sighed.

“If he were—if we were to drag him into our twined pain and guilt, would that not be cruel? Messy? Would we be—I don’t know. It’s complicated to think through. I don’t want this, any of this, to be unhealthy.”

“Then, would it not be prudent to focus on ourselves for a while, before—hypothetically—inviting another?” he said.

“Would you want it? Truly?” Verity asked, looking up at him.

“I will ravage him regardless. Do you honestly think I could resist that flare of dominance? When he said he would punish me ‘with a vengeance’?” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t climax right then and there, to be fair,” she teased. After a while, she said, “We’ll focus on us, then. For now.”

Hades slipped his fingers through her hair and kissed her forehead. “I will undoubtedly find him in our shared bed by the end of the week.”

“By the end of the week?” she echoed, “By tomorrow night, at the latest.”

Hades scoffed, and she laughed a little, fixing him with an accusatory gaze. 

“You scoff, yet I see how you look at him,” she said.

“With nothing but disdain.”

“With a surprising amount of affection,” she corrected, “I wonder why that is sometimes.”

“He reminds me of someone I once knew, long ago.”

“Hythlodaeus?”

Hades flinched. “You knew? How?”

“I met him in Amaurot, you remember,” she hummed softly, slotting against him, warm and comfortable, “He does have that same spark of mischief, doesn't he?”

“Mm,” he answered.

She sighed, content, and peered up at the spinning orbs. “You’re getting good at that.”

“And I will wear your hideous scarf tomorrow, if you so wish it,” he said.

“But you hate it.”

“Nevertheless. Consider it a token of my love—one that will last the length of my lifetime, I am sure. It is truly and well hideous.”

She gave him a swat, and their laughter died down into yawns—and in each other’s arms, they finally found restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	28. Starlight - Hades/Hythlodaeus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today was a "pick your own prompt", so I picked starlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My OTP. *screech*

He whined, and it sounded like surrender.

The response was immediate. Hythlodaeus surged up behind him, as if in rescue, and carded his fingers through his sweat-slick hair. Hades couldn’t help but round his spine, bringing their skin flush, from neck to hips—just so that he could feel all of him. Ground him. Make him feel warm and safe and protected.

“So impatient,” came his sweet voice, dropped low with want and need.

Hades let out a ribbon of a sigh and rolled his hips backward to feel it brush against his backside. Hard and thick, eager to penetrate him as much as he wanted it, too. A shiver rippled over his damp skin. He was breathless, there in the dark, and Hades tilted his head inward when Hythlodaeus kissed him on the side of his neck.

“ _Please._ ”

He almost didn’t recognize his own voice, as shattered as it was. But Hythlodaeus smiled against his ear all the same, a startling split between mischief and promise.

“All in good time, my dear Hades,” he whispered, “All in good time.”

He’d savor him, Hades knew. Treat him like the most precious of concepts—and he did. Hythlodaeus drew lines on his skin, mapping constellations, creating new ones, sealing each with a kiss, one by one, down his spine. A flutter of fingers graced his ribs, soft touches that outlined his side and curved over his hip. It was hard to breathe under the heaviness of his love, as absolute as it was, and it endeavored to crush him and leave him for dead. But he wouldn’t have it another way—suffocating in that brilliance was all he’d ever wanted.

Hythlodaeus took him apart with his tongue, the flat of it sweeping over his hole more times than he could count. It left his arms and thighs trembling, and on all fours, it threatened to sap the strength out of him. Under Hythlodaeus’ ministrations, Hades collapsed onto his forearms, pressing his head into the mattress, groaning, singing Hythlodaeus’ praises with each whisper of his name. They fell from his lips like starlight. His mind a haze of desperation and need. Did he whisper that he loved him just now? He couldn’t tell. He was gone.

He must have, because Hythlodaeus came up behind him again and kissed the back of his neck. The knob of his spine, between his shoulder blades. Touches so loving Hythlodaeus almost convinced him he deserved to be worshipped. To that end, it didn’t take long for Hythlodaeus to line up and push into him ever so slowly. Not an onze of pain or discomfort—only pleasure with every ilm. He clenched around him to savor the feel of it, the gradual fullness that made his thighs quake. To the hilt, stilling just enough so that Hades might become used to his girth. And in that time, blessing him with kisses along his jawline, the hollow spot behind his ear—before enveloping his earring in his mouth. 

His groan—it was otherworldly.

Hythlodaeus teethed the shell of his ear, withdrawing just enough for him to ache with emptiness. Not all the way, mind, just the head of him left to tease, for his breath to stutter in his chest. Hades almost growled, and Hythlodaeus shushed him, that devilish slip of a smile against his cheek. He murmured something then, but Hades didn’t quite hear it—not before Hythlodaeus slipped inside again, filling him up once more. His body welcomed him every time, never resisting, always needing him. 

Another kiss. Then, Hythlodaeus crossed an arm over Hades’ chest, pulling him close and flush. Making love to him just like that, as soft as falling snow. And, as the end grew nigh, a little harder. Hythlodaeus puffed breaths against his face, whispered his name—his heat, the fullness, the way Hythlodaeus unraveled him with each thrust. Hades huffed out a breath and came untouched. Hythlodaeus groaned—and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

Together, in each other’s arms, they rode out the hammering of their hearts among beams of moonlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	29. Irenic - Hades & Hythlodaeus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irenic; favoring, conducive to, or operating toward peace, moderation, or conciliation.

A drone of white noise—that was how he’d often described Lahabrea’s lectures. And here, in the great lecture hall, among his peers, Hades drifted between sleep and waking as Lahabrea preened about… something. Hythlodaeus nudged him, but he ignored it, tuning in to his warmth instead. 

Thinking.. . . closing his… eyes.. .

“And to do otherwise would be insufferably foolish—much like our dear friend Hades here.”

There was a cacophony of chortles and laughter.

Hades straightened and snapped his eyes open to stares, to Lahabrea heatedly judging him. His peers started leaving, which meant he’d slept through most of it. Embarrassing, to be sure. But not enough to snatch the ire from his straight-set shoulders, nor the glower in his eyes. Hythlodaeus, dear irenic Hythlodaeus, put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, knowing full well that there would soon be pyrotechnics between the two of them. 

And Lahabrea, arrogant, immeasurably difficult Lahabrea, took the bait.

“A moment most Honorable Emet-Selch,” Lahabrea oozed.

“Perhaps if we slip out the back, we can escape, dear Hades. Nothing good will come of meeting a bull head on, do you not agree?”

“A bull?” Hades groused, “More like a lamb—and I, for one, am hungry for a bit of meat.”

“Hades, please,” Hythlodaeus squeaked, trailing after him.

Lahabrea and Hades met in the middle, both wearing crossed arms like a badge of honor, and their scowls as crowns. Neither of them backing down while Hythlodaeus practically stepped between them.

“Mayhap we can settle this over tea and biscuits,” Hythlodaeus offered cheerfully.

Lahabrea ignored him. “Hades, you are a somewhat intelligent, are you not? Would you not agree that sleeping during one of my lectures is—hm, how can I say this appropriately—absolutely ludicrous and ill-sighted of you?”

Hades feigned deep thought. “A good point, indeed. However, consider thus as counter: would it not be prudent to at least try, as hard as you might, to make your lectures—and how shall I put this delicately—not mind-numbingly unpalatable and insufferably bland? Boring? Soul-shatteringly idiotic? My apologies. Did you need more descriptors?”

“A biscuit?” Hythlodaeus put one in Lahabrea’s gaping mouth.

Lahabrea beheaded the biscuit and chewed, holding the other half aloft while his eyes tore Hades apart. It took everything in Hades not to smile and goad him into a fight, his good graces inspired by Hythlodaeus’ attempts to keep the peace. Overly good-spirited, Hythlodaeus offered a biscuit to Hades as well, and Hades took it reluctantly.

The opposing pair squared off with their respective biscuits. Chewing. Watching.

“Well, now that we have that settled,” Hythlodaeus beamed. “Shall we depart, dear Hades?”

He would have right then if Lahabrea’s soul hadn’t flared _red, red, red_ —his spiteful color of swift and acting revenge. 

Lahabrea swallowed bits of biscuit, then curled his lips into a smile. “Give my regards to Azem, won’t you?”

It had become a joke among his peers. Hades and Azem—the fact that he was absolutely in love with her. The fact, too, that he hadn’t yet made his love known or, these days, barely talked to her. _The End Days will come before Hades declares his love_ was the common jest. And it sparked within him a devastating ire every time.

“My regards to your future lectures,” Hades snipped and blew dust in his face.

Lahabrea stumbled back and wiped his face, while Hythlodaeus immediately crowded Hades, tilting his chin so that he might look him in the eyes. “What did you do, dearest Hades? Please tell me you did no irreparable harm.”

Hades shrugged, then turned his eyes to Lahabrea when he made an—odd sound. It sounded like bubbles, erupting from his throat time and time again. Each time he opened his mouth, a new one sprang from his lips. Originating from the chest, Hades pondered, hooked fingers tapping his chin in thought.

Lahabrea squeaked, “What did you— _hic!_ —do?”

“Hm. You should have turned into a toad. More testing is required, I think,” Hades said, then half-smiled, “Nevertheless, I suppose this will make your lectures somewhat… inspiring now.”

Hades chuckled and brushed past him. As always, Hythlodaeus lagged a step behind, and Hades could hear him say, “His apologies. Surely,” as he was often the one to apologize for him, if ever an apology was to manifest at all.

And so, hiccups came into being. The first of their kind—disappearing only after Lahabrea had drank enough water, and after Elidibus had unwittingly startled him in the lecture hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	30. Parental - Solus zos Galvus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parental; of or appropriate to a father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick one today!

He’d been wearing Solus zos Galvus as a regimental coat for years now, playing the role of self-proclaimed Emperor to perfection. But the curtain on Solus’ little life rose anew for an entirely different reason today—and the anticipatory stirrings of a new role fluttered under his skin.

Handmaids scattered like diamonds strewn across the floor at his passing. The mumblings of an heir had reached his ears far before he’d had time to reach his wife’s birthing suite. And through its wide double doors he swept, leaving his escorting entourage at its mouth.

Its occupants looked up, then lowered their eyes and shed their customary greetings. _Your Radiance_ showered him with empty praises, and their adoring looks didn’t fill him gladness or pride this day. He had no time for it, for his entire world fought for then centered on the flushed woman in the bed.

Never before had he seen her so remarkably beautiful.

She smiled at him, and though she was tired, it reminded him of a sunlight day. Her rosed cheeks as petals, and her clear blue eyes as flawless sapphires. The silver bell of her voice sang to him with two simple words.

“A son.”

“Would you like to hold him, Your Radiance?” said another.

He turned his head, and there, in a handmaid’s arms, lay a bundled babe. Curiosity spread gooseflesh all over his body, and he simply nodded, turned, and with the flair of his coat, sat in the lush chair perched in a corner.

—and that was the precise moment the babe fussed, then let loose a wail.

The handmaid altered her trajectory to his wife, as was her wont, but the bark of his command struck her still.

“Bring him here.”

His wife graciously nodded her accord, and the screaming child was gently placed in his awaiting arms. Immediately, the babe quieted and quicker still did an overwhelming amount of indescribable love flood his veins. Suffocate him. Rend him senseless. In that moment did he know that he’d destroy the entire star for him, if bade. Cleave armies for the most minor of infractions against him. Tear apart anything in his path in order to bring about a mote of happiness within the boy.

And it gave him hope. A hope for what and for why, he didn’t know. But it was hope nonetheless—an ephemeral feeling he had not experienced in the longest of whiles.

He waved off the handmaid when she, for whatever reason, made move to reach for the now sleeping babe. Just a little longer, he mused, stroking his downy hair. For when would he be graced with another chance such as this? To hold his child in his arms while the world watched.

And for a moment, he didn’t yearn for what once was, and for loved ones he’d lost. Mayhap these broken and shattered husks had a future, after all. Mayhap he wouldn’t burn them out for a chance at a Rejoining. And mayhap still, he’d carve out a future for his son, his firstborn—and ensure, no matter how and why, that it would be bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	31. Splinter - Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Splinter; a smaller piece that has been broken off from a larger piece.

A splinter of what he had been—that was what he had become. A fragment of a consciousness once millennia old, scheming in the dark. A Sorcerer of Eld reduced to this. But had this not been the plan all along? Was this not one of his many failsafes in the event of his expected death?

When she finally returned to her rooms at The Pendants, she stopped dead in her tracks and stared. She was as beautiful as ever, he thought. With her silver hair catching the light, her stormy gray eyes inquisitive and studying. The liquid line of her spine, the language of her body—all of it told him she was apprehensive, confused. Was that a undercurrent of sadness, too?

“You again,” she whispered, “What are you doing in my room of all places?”

He didn’t move, just looked at her. When she came close, one foot carefully placed in front of the other, he didn’t move either. She sat on the chair in front of him, and the only thing he could deign was a blink of eyes. 

“Why are you following me?”

He didn’t answer. They stared at each other for a long while. Outside the window, he could hear the jovial sounds of celebration. Laughter. Praises. A general cacophony of happiness that had no place inside these rooms. For the Warrior of Light didn’t feel so, and in front of his eyes, she began to unravel. Like a thread caught and pulling.

“You remind me of him, you know,” she began, wiping a tear that had yet to fall, “You have that same... flair for drama. The same eyes. That same aloofness. And you have an attitude to boot.”

He took the compliments in stride, but said nothing.

“Will you complain if I touch you?” she asked softly.

Her fingers sought refuge in his blue-gray feathers, and he didn’t complain. He stood there, on her table, while she preened him, removing loose feathers from his wings and body. It felt... wonderful, and his eyes closed for longer than he intended, only to wake up to the sound of her voice.

“I can tell you like this,” she smiled, but it was small and sad, “He liked to be pampered, too.”

She broke apart right then, crying into her hands. Her shoulders shook silently, and soon, her whole body trembled with her despair. It emanated off her in suffocating waves, and he simply couldn’t have that, no.

He bent forward and touched his head to hers. Like a moth to a flame, she wrapped her arms around his body and wept for everything she had lost—and he let her. He knew that their parting would soon be at an end, and one day, he would return to her.

One day—this he promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


	32. Final Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some final thoughts about the challenge!

This collection is for FFXIV Write, which in essence, can be summed up in a few sentences from the creator: " **The purpose of this challenge is to break the power of perfectionism** over your personal creative process. Some folks frown on the 24-hour submission deadline, but I think that it’s a critical part in getting people to just go ahead and submit something, **even if it’s not perfect, and in doing so perfectionism begins to lose its power day by day.** "

I rarely create because I am terrified it won't be perfect. But for this 30-Day challenge, I'm going to try to hard to shed those preconceptions—and just create! Come join us! For rules, how to participate, etc., visit [FFXIV Write](https://ffxiv-write.carrd.co/)!

  


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What an absolute amazing adventure this whole month was, and I am so grateful I participated in FFXIV Write. Every day was looking up the prompt, outlining and writing it, doing a quick editing pass, and submitting it without the crushing weight of "this must be perfect"—on time and within 24 hours! And it was an absolutely liberating experience. Through FFXIV Write, I was able to meet new characters, flesh out existing ones, and really have fun with the current (and past!) cast of the game, and spending time with them was so fulfilling. I was able to come up with new story arcs for some of the characters, and write a bunch of stuff I had always wanted to write, but never got around to doing so. All in all, this event was an absolute monumental success for me, and I did what I set out to do: write, write, write—without the need of being perfect!

To that end, I want to take the time to thank a few people. To frostmantle, Aeosera, Lyril, Vixkay, Ivalane and bijou; thank you for reading and commenting on most of my chapters, or heavily supporting me through discord! To the rest of those who came in and visited for a story or two, thank you for your conversations, comments, and for reading!

Do you have a favorite story? Let me know!

Thank you for reading! ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


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